


Seventh Year: The Final Battle

by DominusMortis



Series: Harry Potter and Why He Should Never Be Left Unsupervised [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Rape, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Bring tissues, Camping, Canon, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Final Battle, For the most part, Hogwarts, Horcruxes, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, Pain, Powerful Magic, Reunions, Rewrite, Room of Requirement, Torture, lots of pain, this made me sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 101,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26626990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DominusMortis/pseuds/DominusMortis
Summary: Horcrux hunting. Camping. Loneliness and terror.Our five friends go through it all in order to defeat Lord Voldemort once and for all. But is the cost really worth it?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Fred Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Harry Potter and Why He Should Never Be Left Unsupervised [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789387
Comments: 12
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd give you all the seventh book as well because honestly, I have no idea how long the next one will take to write. This is here for your benefit. And yes, bring tissues because you will cry - I cried. A lot. Big fat tears of sorry.

The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other’s chests; then, recognising each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.

“News?” asked the taller of the two.

“The best,” replied Severus Snape.

The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge. The men’s long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they marched.

“Thought I might be late,” said Yaxley, his blunt features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. “It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be satisfied. You sound confident that your reception will be good?”

Snape nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the men’s way. Neither of them broke step: in silence, both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through it, as though the dark metal were smoke.

The yew hedges muffled the sound of the men’s footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their right: Yaxley drew his wand again, pointing it over his companion’s head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, strutting majestically along the top of the hedge.

“He always did himself well, Lucius. _Peacocks_ …” Yaxley thrust his wand back under his cloak with a snort.

A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond-paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge a fountain was playing. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Snape and Yaxley sped toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though nobody had visibly opened it.

The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits followed Snape and Yaxley as they strode past. The two men halted at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze handle.

The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room’s usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. Snape and Yaxley lingered for a moment on the threshold. As their eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, they were drawn upward to the strangest feature of the scene: an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table below. None of the people seated underneath this singular sight was looking at it except for a pale young man sitting almost directly below it. He seemed unable to prevent himself from glancing upward every minute or so.

“Yaxley, Snape,” said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. “You are very nearly late.”

The speaker was seated directly in front of the fireplace, so that it was difficult, at first, for the new arrivals to make out more than his silhouette. As they drew nearer, however, his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow.

“Severus, here,” said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. “Yaxley – beside Dolohov.”

The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Snape, and it was to him the Voldemort spoke first.

“So?”

“My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall.”

The interest around the table sharpened palpably: some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Snape and Voldemort.

“Saturday…at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

“Good. Very good. And this information comes – “

“ – from the source we discussed,” said Snape.

“My Lord.”

Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Snape. All faced turned to him.

“My Lord, I have heard differently.”

Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, “Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen.”

Snape was smiling.

“My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible.”

“I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain,” said Yaxley.

“If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain,” said Snape. “I assure _you_ , Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry.”

“The Order’s got one thing right, then, eh?” said a squat man sitting a short distance from Yaxley; he gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the table.

Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered upward to the body revolving slowly overhead, and he seemed to be lost in thought.

“My Lord,” Yaxley went on, “Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy – “

Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort turned back to Snape.

“Where are they going to hide the boy next?”

“At the home of one of the Order,” said Snape. “The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest.”

“Well, Yaxley?” Voldemort called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. “ _Will_ the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?”

Once again, all heads turned. Yaxley squared his shoulder.

“My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have – with difficulty, and after great effort – succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.”

Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbour, Dolohov, a man with a long, twisted face, clapped him on the back.

“It is a start,” said Voldemort. “But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister’s life will set me back a long way.”

“Yes – my Lord, that is true – but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact with not only the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down.”

“As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest,” said Voldemort. “At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels.”

“We are at an advantage here, my Lord,” said Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive some portion of approval. “We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or used the Floo Network, we shall know immediately.”

“He will not do either,” said Snape. “The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place.”

“All the better,” said Voldemort. “He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far.”

Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, “I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than his triumphs.”

The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter’s continued existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself that to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body above him.

“I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter and I shall be.”

At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked downward, startled, for the sound had seemed to issue from below their feet.

“Wormtail,” said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, and without removing his eyes from the revolving body above, “have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?”

“Yes, m-my Lord,” gasped a small man halfway down the table, who had been sitting so low in his chair that it had appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a curious gleam of silver.

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see…Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and way in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“My Lord?”

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand/”

“I…”

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, her long blond hair hanging down her back, but beneath the table her slim fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely.

“What is it?”

“Elm, my Lord,” whispered Malfoy.

“And the core?”

“Dragon – dragon heartstring.”

“Good,” said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand and compared the lengths. Lucius Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a section, it seemed he expected to receive Voldemort’s wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously.

“Give you my wand, Lucius? _My_ wand?”

Some of the throng sniggered.

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your wife seem less than happy of late…What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing – nothing, my Lord!”

“Such _lies_ , Lucius…”

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards barely repressed shudders as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table. The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemort’s chair. It rose, seemingly endless, and came to rest across Voldemort’s shoulders: its neck the thickness of a man’s thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Lucius Malfoy.

“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it – we do.”

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake.

“My Lord,” said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, “it is an honour to have you here, in our family’s house. There can be no higher pleasure.”

She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanour; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.

“No higher pleasure,” repeated Voldemort, his head titled a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. “That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.”

Her face flooded with colour; her eyes welled with tears of delight.

“My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!”

“No higher pleasure…even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?”

She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused.

“I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”

“I’m talking about your cousin, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. He has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.”

There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The great snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Malfoy’s humiliation. Bellatrix’s face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.

“He is no cousin of ours, my Lord,” she cried over the outpouring of mirth. “We – Narcissa and I – have never set eyes on our cousin since he was disowned. That brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast he marries.”

“Enough,” said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. “Enough.”

And the laughter died at once.

“Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring. “You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.”

“Yes, my Lord,” whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. “At the first chance!”

“You shall have it,” said Voldemort. “And in your family, so in the world…we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain…”

Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy’s wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.

“Do you recognise our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort.

Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, “Severus! Help me!”

“Ah, yes,” said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

“And you, Vincent?” asked Voldemort, stroking the snake’s snout with his wand-free hand. Vincent shook his head indifferently.

“But you would not have taken her classes,” said Voldemort. “For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth cackled.

“Yes…Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles…how they are not so different from us…”

One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape again.

“Severus…please…please…”

“Silence,” said Voldemort, with another twitch of Malfoy’s wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. “Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the _Daily Prophet_. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance…She would have us all mate with Muggles…or, no doubt, werewolves…”

Nobody laughed this time: there was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort’s voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned slowly away from him again.

“ _Avada Kedavra_.”

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs.

“Dinner, Nagini,” said Voldemort softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto the polished wood.


	2. Chapter Two

Sarah looked out the attic window of Remus’ house, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. It was an unnaturally cold summer’s evening and Sarah had stolen one of Harry’s hoodies, the sleeves hanging to her fingertips. She took a sip as she watched the leaves dance in the trees. It was their last day here. Ever since Grimmauld Place had been compromised by Snape’s knowledge of the location, Sarah, Draco, Harry, Sirius and Remus had all been living at Remus’ place until another location could be deemed safe.

Fred had admitted to her that various enchantments were being placed upon the Burrow, which meant they’d probably be moving into their soon. Sarah knew they’d have to be at the Burrow for Bill and Fleur’s wedding in a week and she was waiting for Remus and Sirius to come back from the latest meeting and tell them when they would be leaving.

The sunset cast growing shadows all across the large lawn. In the far distance, Sarah saw the steel door which led to the storm shelter Remus used for his transformations. They would have to find somewhere safe for Remus after they relocated – not that Sarah, Harry and Draco would be staying for long. Sarah had already been packing a bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it that Hermione had given her. She had everything from essentials to books about every topic she thought might be useful. She knew Hermione had a similar bag packed with her and Ron’s things waiting at the Burrow.

Soft footsteps on wooden stairs caught Sarah’s attention but she didn’t turn away from the window. The sun had fully set now and constellations winked cheerfully at her from the dark sky.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Sarah smiled at her reflection as Harry stepped up behind her, leaning against the wall and gazing across the trees.

“Is that my hoodie?” he continued. “I thought Draco had stolen that.”

Sarah shrugged. “It’s warmer than my clean one.”

Harry grinned at her but it slowly faded.

“They’re back,” he said quietly. “They’re waiting in the living room with Draco.”

Sarah nodded. “We’re not going to be this safe for a while,” she sighed.

“You know you don’t have to come with me,” Harry said, frowning slightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” scoffed Sarah. “You’d never survive without me.”

Harry huffed a laugh and nodded.

“Well,” announced Sarah, draining the last of her tea. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”

Harry held out his hand to help Sarah off the wide window ledge. Together, they headed downstairs to where Sirius, Remus and Draco were sitting in tense silence. Sarah perched on the arm of Sirius’ chair and took in the sombre faces.

“It’s not good news, is it?” she said.

“You, Harry and Draco will be moved to the Burrow tonight,” Remus said. “Order members will be arriving soon to pick you up.”

“Pick us up?” Sarah said sharply. “What about you?”

Remus smiled sadly at her.

“Sirius and I aren’t coming with you,” he said.

“What?” Harry demanded, striding forward. “Why not?”

“You’re the priority, Harry,” Remus said calmly. “Sirius and I will stay here and help the fight All that matters is that you, Sarah and Draco are safe.”

“But – “

“This place will be put under Fidelius after you leave,” Sirius interrupted. He held up a hand when Harry went to argue again. “It’s safer that way, pup. You’ll be safe at the Burrow with the Weasleys.”

The three teenagers were silent and Sirius frowned.

“You _will_ be at the Burrow, won’t you?” he asked with an edge to his voice.

“Whatever you three are planning, don’t even think about it,” warned Remus. “We’ve seen you three whispering to each other.”

“Sorry, Moony,” Sarah said apologetically. “But we can’t do that.”

Remus frowned but Draco spoke before he could.

“We’ll be okay,” he said softly. “We have something we need to do.”

Sirius sighed heavily. “And I’m guessing you can’t tell us.”

Harry smiled crookedly at his godfather. “Right in one, Padfoot.”

Remus rubbed his hands over his face.

“There’s no point us arguing about it,” he said. “The others will be here soon.”

Before Sarah left the room, Remus caught her arm.

“You know what you and Draco have to do tonight?” he whispered.

Sarah nodded. “We’re ready.”

Half an hour later, there was a knock on the front door. Sarah looked at the two boys as they listened to Remus go answer it. Draco led the way back downstairs where laughter met their ears. Lounging upon the limited furniture where a group of familiar faces: Ron, long and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in a long plait; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, badly scarred and long-haired; Mr Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short hair was her favourite shade of bright pink; Kingsley, bald and broad-shouldered; Hagrid, with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling; and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy basset hound’s eyes and matted hair. Sarah’s heart seemed to expand and glow at the sight of them.

“Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?” Sarah called across the room.

“He can get along without me for one night,” said Kingsley. “Harry is more important.”

“All right, all right, we’ll have time for a cosy catch-up late!” roared Moody over the hubbub and silence fell in the living room. Moody dropped two sacks on the floor. “We had to abandon plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He’s made it an impossible offence to use the Floo, Portkey or Apparate. Also, you’re underage, which means you’ve still got the Trace on you.”

“So what are we going to do?” Harry asked.

“We’re going to use brooms, thestrals and Hagrid’s motorbike,” Moody replied. “Nothing that uses spells.”

“But – “

“The one thing we’ve got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesn’t know we’re moving you tonight. We’ve leaked a fake trail to the Ministry, they think you’re not leaving until the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who we’re dealing with, so we can’t just rely on him getting the date wrong, he’s bound to have a couple of Death Eaters patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we’ve given a dozen different houses every protection charm we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we’re going to hide you, they’ve all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kingsley’s place, Molly’s Auntie Muriel’s – you get the idea,” Moody went on.

“Yeah,” said Harry slowly.

“You’ll be going to Tonk’s parents. Once you’re within the boundaries of the protective charms we’ve put on their house, you’ll be able to Portkey to the Burrow. Any questions?”

“Er – yes,” said Harry. “Maybe they won’t know which of the secure houses I’m heading for at first, but won’t it be sort of obvious once fourteen of us fly off to Tonks’ parents’ house?”

“Ah,” said Moody, “I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us won’t be flying to Tonks’s parents’. There will be seven Harry Potters moving through the skies tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house.”

From inside his cloak, Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud. There was no need for him to say another word; Harry seemed to understand the rest of the plan immediately.

“No!” he said loudly, his voice ringing through the kitchen. “No way!”

“I told them you’d take it like this,” said Sarah with a smirk.

“If you think I’m going to let six people risk their lives - !”

“ – because it’s the first time for all of us,” said Ron.

“This is different, pretending to be me – “

“Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry,” said George earnestly. “Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever.”

Harry did not smile.

“You can’t do it if I don’t cooperate, you need me to give you some hair.”

“Well, that’s the plan scuppered,” said Draco. “Obviously, there’s no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate.”

“Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who’s not allowed to use magic; we’ve got no chance,” said Fred.

“Funny,” said Harry, “really amusing.”

“Actually, that won’t be necessary,” Sarah said. Harry looked at her sharply. “I may have already gotten some hair.”

“How the _hell_ \- ?”

Sarah pulled out a vial from her pocket.

“Sorry, darling, but we have to do it,” Sarah said as she gave the vial to Moody.

Moody dropped the hair into the mudlike liquid. The moment it made contact with its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright gold.

“Ooh, you look much tastier than Goyle and Theo, Harry,” said Hermione, before catching sight of Ron’s raised eyebrows and Sarah’s incredulous expression and blushing. “Oh, you know what I mean – Goyle’s potion looked like bogies.”

“Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please,” said Moody.

Ron, Hermione, Sarah, Draco, and George lined up in front of the couch.

“We’re one short,” said Remus.

“Here,” said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck and dropped him beside Sarah, who wrinkled her nose pointedly and moved along to stand between George and Ron instead.

“I’ve toldjer, I’d sooner be a protector,” said Mundungus.

“Shut it,” growled Moody. “As I’ve already told you, you spineless worm, any Death Eaters we run into will be aiming to capture Potter, not kill him. Dumbledore always said You-Know-Who would want to finish Potter in person. It’ll be the protectors who have got the most to worry about, the Death Eaters’ll want to kill them.”

Mundungus did not look particularly reassured, but Moody was already pulling half a dozen eggcup-sized glasses from inside his cloak, which he handed out, before pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one.

“Altogether, then…”

Ron, Hermione, Sarah, Draco, George and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats. At once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Hermione, Sarah and Mundungus were shooting upward; Ron, George and Draco were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione’s and Sarah’s appearing to shoot backwards into their skulls.

Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping and panting in front of him.

“Those clothes are a bit roomy, I’ve got smaller here,” said Moody, indicating the first sack, “and vice versa. Don’t forget the glasses, there are six pairs in the side pocket. And when you’re dressed, there’s luggage in the other sack.”

“This is horrible,” said Sarah, taking off her shirt. “Draco, I have no idea how you do it.”

“How do you think I feel, darling?” drawled Draco. “I’m literally my boyfriend right now.”

“I think I’m the only one allowed to complain about how weird this is right now,” Harry snapped.

“Harry, your eyesight really is awful,” said Hermione, as she put on glasses.

“Sarah, is that my underwear?” Harry exclaimed.

Sarah smirked; it felt weird on Harry’s face.

“There was no way I was stripping down to _my_ underwear,” Sarah said plainly.

“All right – enough!” Moody growled. “The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be travelling with me, by broom – “

“Why’m I with you?” grunted the Harry nearest the back door.

“Because you’re the one that needs watching,” growled Moody, and sure enough, his magical eye did not waver from Mundungus as he continued, “Arthur and George, Mr Malfoy and Bill – you’re going on a thestral.”

Draco shuddered slightly. Sarah knew he wasn’t a fan of the creatures.

“Miss Granger with Kingsley, again by thestral – “

Hermione looked reassured as she answered Kingsley’s smile; Sarah knew that Hermione was quite atrocious on a broom.

“Miss Deaumont you’re with Fred,” continued Moody, not looking particularly pleased with this.

“Which leaves you and me, Ron!” said Tonks brightly, knocking over a stray mug as she waved at him.

Ron did not look quite as pleased as Hermione.

“An’ you’re with me, Harry. That all righ’?” said Hagrid, looking a little anxious. “We’ll be on the bike, brooms an’ thestrals can’t take me weight, see. Not a lot o’ room on the seat with me on it, though, so you’ll be in the sidecar.”

“That’s great,” said Harry.

“We think the Death Eaters will expect you to be on a broom,” said Moody. “Snape’s had plenty of time to tell them everything about you he’s never mentioned before, so if we do run into any Death Eaters, we’re betting they’ll choose one of the Potters who look at home on a broomstick.”

“Everyone get into position,” Moody said. “Three minutes until we leave.”

Everyone walked into the front yard and got into their pairs. On every side broomsticks were leaping into hands; Hermione had already been helped up onto a great black thestral by Kingsley, Draco onto the other by Bill. Hagrid was standing ready beside a shining motorbike, goggles on.

Sirius whistled from his position leaning against the doorframe.

“Is that my old bike?” he asked Hagrid.

“The very same,” said Hagrid, beaming at Sirius.

“You’ve taken good care of it,” Sirius said slightly wistfully.

“Arthur’s done a bit o’ tinkerin’,” said Hagrid, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s discomfort as the boy squeezed himself into the small sidecar, Hedwig in her cage between his knees. Sarah rested an arm against Draco’s thestral as she listened to the conversation. “It’s got a few tricks up its handlebars now. Tha’ one was my idea.”

“Please be careful, Hagrid,” said Mr Weasley, who was standing beside them, holding his broomstick. “I’m still not sure that was advisable and it’s certainly only to be used in emergencies.”

“All right then,” said Moody. “Everyone ready, please; I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion’s lost.”

Everybody mounted their brooms. Sarah waved goodbye to Remus and Sirius, who smiled sadly back.

“Good luck, everyone,” shouted Moody. “See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One…two…THREE.”

Sarah and Fred shot off the ground and into the air, the other pairs doing the same. There was a great roar from the motorbike as it left the grass. Higher and higher they climbed into the sky –

And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were surrounded. At least thirty hooded figures, suspended in midair, formed a vast circle in the midst of which the Order members had risen, oblivious –

Screams, a blaze of green light on every side: Fred gave a shout and veered out of the way as one of the figures flew at him. Sarah fished her wand out of her pocket and shot a spell at the Death Eater, clipping his shoulder. Fred waved at Sarah and they pointed their brooms high and pressed themselves close to the wood, zooming off into the distance.

Spell after spell was thrown at them and they did their best to avoid the jets of light as best as they could. But after a particularly difficult spin, Sarah let out a pained cry when one grazed her left arm. Her broom dropped as her weight shifted but she still managed to throw another spell blindly. Fred shot a spell over her head as they veered left suddenly.

“Nearly there!” shouted Fred.

But then the unexpected happened.

The Death Eaters pursuing them stopped in midair and turned around before disappearing into the distance. Fred flew up beside Sarah as they stared in shock at where the three men had disappeared.

“Where did they go?” she said, her wand held high.

“I don’t know,” Fred replied. “But let’s not stick around – come on.”

Sarah followed Fred as he led her further north. After ten more minutes of flying through the cold air, Sarah felt herself pass through an invisible barrier. Out of nowhere, a house appeared before them about half a kilometre away. Sarah and Fred landed in the front yard and the door flew open, revealing Fleur, her silvery hair pulled into a messy bun.

“Zank goodness, you made eet!” she exclaimed.

“Fleur,” greeted Sarah. “Have you heard from the others?”

Fleur shook her head as they hurried into her house. “Non. I ‘ave heard nothing. Your Portkey eez just over here – eet should leave in a few minutes.”

Sarah let out a sigh of relief as she felt the Polyjuice Potion drain out of her system, causing her features to resume their normal details. Fred walked up next to her holding a crushed soda can.

“Couldn’t Moody have thought of anything different?” he said, grimacing.

“As long as I can get out of these clothes soon,” Sarah huffed as she gripped the other end of can. “Harry’s wardrobe really needs an update.”

A few seconds later, she felt the tell-tale feeling of a hook in her navel, tugging her into a whirlwind of colour and sound until her feet hit solid ground.

The first thing she heard were loud shouts.

“SARAH! FRED!”

Sarah grunted as Harry slammed into her, causing her to stagger back into Fred. Hermione’s small body appeared a second later, her face incredibly pale.

“Is everyone back?” Fred asked anxiously.

“No,” Hermione said. “Only Harry, Hagrid, Kingsley, Mr Weasley and – and George.” Something in her voice made Sarah pause and pull back from Harry.

“Hermione, what’s happened?” Sarah said.

Tears welled in Hermione’s eyes as she looked at Fred.

“It’s George,“ she said. “He was hit with a curse – “

Fred was racing toward the house without another word, Sarah close on his heels. George was lying on the couch in the Burrow’s crowded living room, his mother, father and Ginny by his side, a bloody cloth pressed to the side of his head. Fred dropped down to his knees beside his brother, his freckles standing out in stark contrast to his pale face.

“How do you feel, Georgie?” whispered Mrs Weasley, tears streaming down her face.

George’s fingers groped for the side of his head.

“Saintlike,” he murmured.

“What’s wrong with him?” croaked Fred, looking terrified. “Is his mind affected?”

“Saintlike,” repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. “You see…I’m holy. _Holey_ , Fred, geddit?”

Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Colour flooded Fred’s pale face.

“Pathetic,” he told George. “Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for _holey?”_

“Ah well,” said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. “You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.”

He looked around.

“Hi, Sarah, Harry – you are Harry, right?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Harry, moving closer to the sofa.

“Well, at least we got you back okay,” said George. “Why aren’t Ron and Bill huddled round my sickbed?”

“They’re not back yet, George,” said Mrs Weasley. George’s grin faded.

“Hey, Jesus, let me take a look at that wound,” Sarah said softly, gently removing the bloody cloth.

She grimaced at the sight of the missing ear and subtly moved to block Fred and Mrs Weasley’s view. She siphoned off the blood and froze.

“Mr Weasley…” she said slowly. “Who threw the spell?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Mr Weasley asked.

“The spell,” repeated Sarah in a strained voice, “who cast it?”

“Snape,” answered Mr Weasley, frowning slightly. “But I think you already knew that.”

Sarah nodded. “I’ve seen this handiwork before,” she muttered. “I can help seal the cut but I can’t regrow the ear, I’m sorry.”

“Do what you can, Sarah,” Mrs Weasley said thickly. “Thank you, dear.”

Sarah worked quietly as everyone waited tensely for the next pair to arrive. Seconds turned into minutes and there was still no sign of the others. Fred and George were whispering quietly to each other as Sarah sat with Harry, their hands clasped tightly while they looked out the window. Ginny, Hermione and Mrs Weasley had disappeared into the kitchen some time earlier.

Sudden movement caught Sarah’s eye as a broom materialised directly in the distance and streaked toward the ground –

“Someone’s here!” exclaimed Sarah, jumping to her feet.

Sarah and Harry raced into the backyard just as Tonks landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere.

Ron tripped dazedly toward Sarah and Harry, Hermione appearing beside them.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled, before Hermione flew at him and hugged him tightly.

“I thought – I thought – “

“’M all right,” said Ron, patting her on the back. “’M fine.”

“Ron was great,” said Tonks warmly, hugging Sarah quickly. “Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you’re aiming at a moving target from a flying broom – “

“You did?” said Hermione, gazing up at Ron with her arms still around his neck.

“Always the tone of surprise,” he said a little grumpily, breaking free. “Are we the last back?”

“No,” said Ginny, materialising next to them, “we’re still waiting for Bill and Draco and Mad-Eye and Mundungus. I’m going to tell Mum and Dad you’re okay, Ron – “

She ran back inside.

“So what kept you? What happened?” demanded Kingsley, striding over.

“Bellatrix,” said Tonks. “She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry, Sarah and Draco. She tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I’d got her. But we definitely injured Rodolphus…Then we got to Ron’s Auntie Muriel’s and we’d missed our Portkey and she was fussing over us – “

Another heavy silence fell as they all waited for the last pairs.

“I’m going to have to get back to Downing Street, I should have been there an hour ago,” said Kingsley finally, after a last sweeping gaze at the sky. “Let me know when they’re back.”

Tonks nodded. With a wave to the others, Kingsley walked away into the darkness toward the gate. Sarah thought she heard the faintest _pop_ as Kingsley Disapparated just beyond the Burrow’s boundaries.

Mr and Mrs Weasley came racing down the back steps, Ginny behind them. Both parents hugged Ron before turning to Tonks.

“Thank you,” said Mrs Weasley, “for looking after our son.”

“Don’t be silly, Molly,” said Tonks at once.

“How’s George?” Sarah asked.

“What’s wrong with him?” piped up Ron.

“He’s lost – “

But the end of Sarah’s sentence was drowned in a general outcry: a thestral had just soared into sight and landed a few feet from them. Bill and Draco slid from its back, windswept but unhurt.

“Bill! Thank God, thank God – “

Mrs Weasley ran forward, but the hug Bill bestowed upon her was perfunctory. Looking directly at his father, he said, “Mad-Eye’s dead.”

Sarah froze from where she was hugging Draco. Nobody spoke, nobody moved.

“We saw it,” said Bill; Draco nodded, looking slightly ill. “It happened just after we broke out of the circle: Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too. Voldemort – he can fly – went straight for the. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he Disapparated. Voldemort’s curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backwards off his broom and – there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail – “

Bill’s voice broke.

“Of course you couldn’t have done anything,” said Tonks.

Draco collapsed into Sarah’s embrace and she looked at Harry sadly over his shoulder. She could not quite comprehend it. Mad-Eye dead.

At last, it seemed to dawn on everyone, though nobody said it, that there was no point waiting in the yard anymore, and in silence, they followed Mr and Weasley back into the Burrow, and into the living room, where Fred and George were laughing together.

“What’s wrong?” said Fred, scanning their faces as they entered. “What’s happened? Who’s – ?”

“Mad-Eye,” said Mr Weasley. “Dead.”

The twins’ grins turned into grimaces of shock. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Tonks was crying softly into a handkerchief; she had been close to Mad-Eye, Sarah knew, his favourite and his protegee at the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid, who had sat down on the floor in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his tablecloth-sized handkerchief.

Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey and some glasses.

“Here,” he said, and with a wave of his wand, he sent eleven full glasses soaring through the room to each of them, holding the twelfth aloft. “Mad-Eye.”

“Mad-Eye,” they all said, and drank.

“Mad-Eye,” echoed Hagrid, a little late, with a hiccup.

The firewhiskey seared Sarah’s throat, burning feeling back into her.

“So Mundungus disappeared?” said Mr Weasley, who had drained his own glass in one.

The atmosphere changed at once. Everybody looked tense, watching Mr Weasley, both wanting him to go on, it seemed to Sarah, and slightly afraid of what they might hear.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Bill, “and I wondered that too, on the way back here, because they seemed to be expecting us, didn’t they? But Mundungus can’t have betrayed us. They didn’t know there would be seven Harrys, that confused them the moment we appeared, and in case you’ve forgotten, it was Mundungus who suggested that little bit of skulduggery. Why wouldn’t he have told them the essential point? I think Dung panicked, it’s as simple as that. He didn’t want to come in the first place, but Mad-Eye made him, and You-Know-Who went straight for them. It was enough to make anyone panic.”

“You-Know-Who acted exactly as Mad-Eye expected him to,” sniffed Tonks. “Mad-Eye said he’d expect the real Harry to be with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. He chased Mad-Eye first and when Mundungus gave them away he switched to Kingsley…”

“But what caused the Death Eaters to retreat?” Sarah asked. “They just suddenly stopped pursuing us.”

Harry grimaced. “That was me. I saw Stan Shunpike and tried to disarm him.”

“ _Disarm?_ ” Draco exclaimed. “Harry! They were fighting to _kill_ you!”

“I know that,” snapped Harry. “But I wasn’t going to hurt Stan.”

Draco shook his head at his boyfriend. “You are absolutely ridiculous sometimes,” he muttered.

Bill and Tonks soon left to go try to retrieve Mad-Eye’s body and everyone else dispersed to their own spaces. Sarah helped Fred move George into their old room and double-checked his wound.

“You should be fully healed in a few days,” Sarah assured George. “You’ll be back to your handsome self in time for the wedding.”

“Not like I could even pick anyone up,” George said grouchily. “Half the people there are my relatives.”

Sarah shuddered slightly. “So many redheads.” She shrugged off the borrowed jacket and draped it over the bedhead.

George suddenly looked sideways at her and frowned.

“Sarah, did you hurt yourself?” he asked, pointing at her left arm.

She held it in front of her and blinked when she saw the burn spanning the length of it.

“Huh,” she said in surprise, peering down at it. “I forgot about that.”

“Forgot about that?” Fred exclaimed. “Your entire arm is _burnt_!”

“Not my entire arm,” Sarah murmured distractedly, aiming her wand at her skin. “Only my bicep really.”

“Don’t give me sass right now, babe,” Fred told her. “I’m going to get Mum.”

“No, no, no,” said Sarah, “no need for that. I’m all right.”

She showed him her healed arm to prove it.

“Just simple spell burn,” she explained. “It just grazed me.”

“You sure?” Fred checked.

Sarah levelled an unimpressed look at him.

“I’ve been practising Healing for over two years,” she said flatly. “I’m sure.”

Fred had the grace to look sheepish.

“You need rest,” Sarah said to George. “And so do I, I’m exhausted,” she added. She gave Fred a peck on the cheek and walked to the door. “Let me know if anything happens with your head, Saint George,” she said in farewell, waving at the twins.

She stalked upstairs to Ginny’s room where she was sharing with her and Hermione and pushed open the door, finding both girls huddled on Ginny’s bed.

“How’s George?” Ginny asked quickly.

Sarah yawned. “He’s fine, except for the missing ear of course.”

“Sarah, you forget that you become more sarcastic the more tired you are,” Hermione warned.

“Right, sorry, Gin,” Sarah apologised. “He really is fine.”

Ginny nodded and rubbed her eyes.

“We should get some sleep,” she said quietly. “Mum wants us to start cleaning tomorrow.”

Sarah flopped down on her assigned bed as Hermione climbed onto her own.

“Why did they have to put as three to a room?” Hermione complained.

“Guests will start arriving in the next few days,” Ginny muttered, her words slightly muffled. “Stupid fucking wedding.”

“It’ll be you one day, Gin,” Sarah sighed, curling into her pillow.

“And I’ll still say, ‘stupid fucking wedding’,” grumbled Ginny.

It wasn’t long before her soft snores filled the room. Sarah turned over to face Hermione and saw her already looking at Sarah.

“We won’t be able to stay long,” Hermione whispered. “After tonight, I’m surprised that Harry didn’t try to take off on his own.”

Sarah huffed almost silently. “I think he would have if he were seventeen,” she muttered back.

“I don’t think Draco and Ron would have let him get further than the front gate,” grinned Hermione

“That indeed would be a sight to see,” Sarah murmured, finally allowing herself to drift off into peaceful oblivion.


	3. Chapter Three

The shock of losing Mad-Eye hung over the house in the days that followed; Sarah kept expecting to see him stumping in through the back door like the other Order members, who passed in and out to relay news. Sarah had felt extremely relieved when Remus and Sirius had appeared on the Burrow’s doorstep the next day and she spent many hours with Remus just talking quietly. Harry was restless, he wanted to set out on the mission to find and destroy Horcruxes as soon as possible.

“Well, you can’t do anything about the” – Ron mouthed the word _Horcruxes_ – “till you’re seventeen. You’ve still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can’t we? Or,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “d’you reckon you already know where the You-Know-Whats are?”

“No,” Harry admitted. Sarah snorted softly from beside him.

“Hermione, Draco and I have been doing some research,” she said. “We haven’t managed to find anything yet.”

“The Trace’ll break on the thirty-first,” said Harry. “That means I only need to stay here for four days. Then I can – “

“ _We_ can,” coughed Sarah.

“And five days,” Ron corrected him firmly. “We’ve got to stay for the wedding. They’ll kill us if we miss it.”

Sarah knew that “they” meant Fleur and Mrs Weasley.

“It’s one extra day,” said Sarah, when Harry looked mutinous. “I know you want to get going but we have to do this last thing and then we can leave.”

“Don’t they realise how important - ?”

“’Course they don’t,” said Ron. “They haven’t got a clue. And now you mention it, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Ron glanced toward the door into the hall to check that Mrs Weasley was not returning yet, then leaned in closer to Harry and Sarah.

“Mum’s been trying to get it out of Hermione and me. What we’re off to do. She’ll try you two next, so brace yourself. Dad and Kingsley have both asked as well, but when we said Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not Mum, though. She’s determined.”

Ron’s prediction came true within hours. Shortly before lunch, Mrs Weasley detached Harry from the others and the pair disappeared into the house.

“Well, you were right,” Sarah conceded to Ron. “I wonder if she’ll try talking to Draco and me.”

“Probably won’t,” piped up Fred, appearing suddenly beside Sarah. “She knows that Slytherins are very tight-lipped when they want to be.”

“Is this about your O.W.Ls scores?” she asked him, stealing his tea.

Fred frowned. “How you managed three weeks without telling her, I’ll never know.”

Sarah just smirked at him.

At that moment, Mrs Weasley called Sarah’s name and she blanched.

“Cover for me,” she gasped, pushing the tea back into Fred’s hands and running for the back door.

As it closed behind her, she faintly heard Mrs Weasley ask, “Where did the girl go to?”

From that moment on, Mrs Weasley kept Sarah, Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione so busy with preparation for the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. After two days of nonstop cutlery cleaning, of colour-matching favours, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming the garden and helping Mrs Weasley cook vast batches of canapes, however, Sarah had had enough. She and the others were constantly separated and it was getting on Sarah’s nerves.

“Nothing she does is going to deter us,” Sarah hissed to Fleur as they picked flower arrangements. “This is only going to make us more inclined to do something stupid.”

“I cannot ‘elp you, darling,” trilled Fleur, calmly sorting through colour schemes. “Molly eez difficult sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” muttered Sarah bitterly. “That’s an understatement.”

“She probably theenks zat eef she keeps you away from each ozzer, you weel not leave,” Fleur suggested calmly. “Ne laisse pas ça t'inquiéter.”

Sarah sighed and pointed at an arrangement.

“That one goes best with the other decorations,” Sarah said glumly. “No offence, but I’ll be much happier when this is all over.”

Fleur nodded quickly. “Me too, darling, me too.”

It wasn’t just Mrs Weasley who was starting to ask questions; Fred, too, had begun to ask where she would be going whenever she least expected it. Sarah couldn’t blame him, she had only told him that she would be unreachable for an unknown amount of time. Fred had accepted that and knew that she wouldn’t be doing it if it weren’t important, but it didn’t stop him from trying to find out as much as he could.

“Fred, I’ve already told you that I _can’t_ tell you anything,” Sarah snapped after he cornered her at the end of dinner. “Please stop asking me.”

“I just want to know you’ll be safe,” he said, his brown eyes worried.

“Of course I won’t be safe,” she sighed. “But I’ll be with the others and we’ll be smart.”

“Are you sure I can’t come with you?” he asked again.

“ _Yes_ ,” she said definitely. “The less you know, the better.”

“I hate this,” he complained.

“It could be worse,” she offered. “I could be breaking up with you to ‘keep you safe’.”

Fred scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Harry nearly tried with Draco and the look he got in return scared even me,” Sarah revealed. “This was before Harry accepted that we were coming along.”

Fred exhaled slowly and gathered Sarah into his arms.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

“You’d carry on with your life,” she said softly. “If the worse happens, I want you to move on.”

“I won’t – “ he started.

“You _will_ ,” she stated firmly. “I won’t have you grieving me for the rest of your life. You will know that I will always love you and then you’ll be happy.”

“Not without you,” he countered, tightening his hold on her. “Half of me just never wants to let you go.”

“You have to,” she murmured. “But I promise I’ll do everything I can to come back to you.”

“Me too,” he vowed. “And then we’ll have our happily ever after.”

“With all our crups and children,” she agreed.

Fred smiled down at her before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small wrapped box.

“I wanted to give this to you for Christmas but considering you’ll be leaving soon…” he said, handing her the gift.

Sarah frowned with a slight smile as she opened it. Inside lay a small golden necklace with the Cassiopeia constellation made of tiny white gemstones.

“I know it’s cheesy,” Fred blushed, “because of the whole ‘my queen’ thing. But I thought you should have this to always remind you that you have someone waiting here to protect you and love you and treat you the way you deserve to be treated – “

He cut off as Sarah threw her arms around him.

“I love it,” she said, sniffing slightly as tears pricked her eyes. “Thank you, Fred.”

“I love you, Sarah,” he said sincerely. “And I want you to always remember that. No matter where you are, I’ll always be with you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered into his neck, gripping him tightly.

She really didn’t want to cry – tears weren’t going to change anything. But in that moment she wished everything was different: she wished that she didn’t have to go on a dangerous mission to destroy the worst evil known to man, she wished that Harry didn’t have a ticking clock on his life, she wished she didn’t have to leave her boyfriend without any way of contacting him. But she knew none of that was possible. Harry had a job and Sarah was going to support him however she could. And when it was all over, she would fall gratefully into the arms comforting her and live her life to the fullest extent.

***

Harry’s seventeenth birthday finally arrived. The occupants of the Burrow had a subdued celebration, all subconsciously understanding what this moment meant: Harry was now old enough to leave if he felt like it. Sarah knew that Draco had been threatening Harry with a variety of horrid things if the other boy even _thought_ about leaving without them. The good thing was that Harry’s birthday meant that the wedding was only a day away – and after that, well, Sarah knew it would be a while before they enjoyed the comforts and safety of the Burrow.

Sarah smiled sadly alongside Draco as Harry cut into his giant Snitch cake that Mrs Weasley had baked for him. Judging from the expressions on Hermione and Ron’s faces, Sarah guessed they too were feeling something similar to her at the moment.

After dinner, Sarah, Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione finally got some time alone while Mrs Weasley dealt with last minute planning for the wedding tomorrow. Mrs Delacour, who had arrived with her husband and daughter the day before, was assisting her.

“It feels strange,” Hermione said quietly to them, “having a wedding at a time like this.”

“At least there’s some happiness,” Sarah offered. “If there weren’t, we may lose sight of what we’re fighting for.”

“I hate leaving them,” Ron confessed. “But I know it’s for the best.”

“At least you managed to get that ghoul to look like you,” Draco snorted. “Spattergroit, ridiculous.”

Sarah laughed weakly as she remembered the ghoul that Fred, Ron and Bill had dressed up to resemble Ron with a horrid sickness.

“Gives Mum and Dad a bit of extra security,” Ron had said. “If the Death Eaters think I’m here and sick, they won’t care I’m not at Hogwarts.”

Sarah knew that Hermione and Ron had had the hardest time coming to terms with leaving their families. Sarah still couldn’t believe that Hermione had erased herself from her parents memories to keep them safe, sending them to Australia. Harry, Draco and Sarah were lucky in that regard. They didn’t have family members to say goodbye to and keep safe.

“What about the items Dumbledore left you in his will?” Sarah asked. “Have you figured out what they mean?”

“No,” Harry said irritably. “A book, a Deluminator and a Snitch. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m sure it will when the time is right,” Hermione said wisely.

“Merlin, you sound like a proverb,” laughed Draco.

Hermione blushed but shrugged. “It’s true.”

“We should plan to leave the day after the wedding,” suggested Sarah. “There’s no point waiting any longer now that Harry’s seventeen.”

The others nodded. The reality of what they were going to do seemed to sink in.

“We are doing the right thing, aren’t we?” Hermione asked quietly.

Harry nodded harshly. “We need to do this. If we don’t, no one will.”

“At least we’ll be together,” Draco said. “We’ll have each other’s backs.”

“Always,” promised Sarah, and the sentiment was echoed by the other three.

With the heavy weight of their mission in their hearts, they dispersed to bed. Little did they know that they wouldn’t get the extra day of comfort.

***

Three o’clock on the following afternoon found Sarah and Hermione standing in the master bedroom of the Burrow, Fleur before them looking absolutely stunning.

“It’s almost time,” Sarah announced, handing Fleur the tiara that Molly’s Aunt Muriel had given to her when Sarah bumped into the older woman in the hall. “Also, I deserve due recompense for what I just had to deal with. Muriel is a _nightmare_ – she kept calling me an ‘outdated pureblood with a penchant for inbred blonds’.” Sarah shuddered. “I don’t even know what that _means_.”

Madame Delacour laughed delicately and patted Sarah on the arm lightly.

“Do not be angry, mon cheri,” she trilled. “Ignore zat ‘orrid woman – today is a day of ‘appiness and love.”

“D’accord,” muttered Sarah. “Je ne sais pas pourquoi je lui ai même donné le temps."

It was Fleur who laughed now. She stepped up beside Sarah and kissed her on the cheek.

“Time to get into your dress, darling,” she said brightly. “Eet will not do to ‘ave us being late.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Sarah, smirking at Ginny. “We wouldn’t want dear Muriel dying before the vows.”

“You are ‘orrible, Sarah,” laughed Fleur. “Go, go.”

When Sarah walked back into the room a few minutes later, everyone was ready to go. Ginny, Gabrielle and Sarah were all wearing the same golden dresses, while Fleur wore a stunning white gown. Madame Delacour wore a grey dress yet still looked just as stunning as Fleur.

“Good, you’re ‘ere!” exclaimed Fleur. “You look stunning!”

“Fred’s going to self-combust,” laughed Ginny.

“Actually, I think Bill will be the first to drop dead,” stated Sarah. “Not everyone looks like Fleur when they get married – you’re literally glowing.”

“Everyone ready!” called Madame Delacour. She linked arms with her daughter and began leading her out of the door. “Allons-y!”

Everyone was already seated when the group arrived at the entrance of the marquee set up in the backyard. Monsieur Delacour met them at the entrance and embraced his daughter, kissing her on both cheeks. Fleur smiled brightly at her sister, Ginny and Sarah as they lined up with Gabrielle at the front and Fleur and Monsieur Delacour at the back. Each girl was holding a smaller version of the white bouquet Fleur had. Madame Delacour disappeared inside the tent.

The cheerful tune started up from inside the marquee and Monsieur Delacour nodded excitedly at Gabrielle. The younger girl beamed widely at her sister and began walking down the aisle, Ginny and Sarah following with Fleur and her father on their heels.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as they came walking toward the aisle. Sarah smiled slightly at Fred’s dumbstruck face when she reached the front, winking at Bill briefly before moving to stand across from him like Charlie was doing opposite her. Once Fleur had reached them, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrir Greyback. Fleur seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow, beatifying everyone in her vicinity.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock, Sarah realised that the celebrant was the same small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided over Dumbledore’s funeral. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls…”

“Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Sarah’s dress is far too low cut.”

Sarah glanced around, grinning, winked at Fred, then quickly faced the front again. The small wizard’s voice melded with the soft breeze as the ceremony carried on.

“Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle…?”

In the front row, Mrs Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpetlike sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs.

“…then I declare you bonded for life.”

The tufty-haired wizard waved his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiralling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst: birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” called the tufty-haired wizard. “If you would please stand up!”

Everyone did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The seats on which the crowd had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the centre of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth around it, and the golden-jacketed band trooped toward a podium.

“Smooth,” said Ginny approvingly as waiters popped up on all sides, some bearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhiskey, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

Fleur appeared in front of them, beaming brightly and wrapped Ginny and then Sarah into tight hugs.

“Congratulations, Fleur!” Sarah cried. “It was beautiful!”

“I’m so ‘appy!” she replied, thickly, tears lining her eyes. “Zank you for all your ‘elp!”

“Anytime, darling, anytime,” promised Sarah.

Fleur suddenly smirked.

“Looks like someone eez eager to speak with you,” she whispered, looking over Sarah’s shoulder.

She turned around to see Fred standing behind them, one hand outstretched and a lopsided smile on his face.

“May I have this dance?” he asked Sarah.

She grinned at him and took his hand in her own.

“Why of course, good sir,” she replied, letting herself be led toward the dance floor. She shot a look over her shoulder to find Ginny and Fleur beaming at her and giving her the thumbs up.

Rolling her eyes, she turned back to Fred, who placed one hand on her waist and gripped the other in his own.

“Let’s see if I remember the steps,” he grinned.

The music started and all the couples began to move smoothly across the golden floor. Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw a bemused looking Draco leading a hopeless Harry.

“Well,” Sarah drawled to Fred, “at least you’re better than that disaster.” She inclined her head towards the pair and Fred let out a bark of laughter when he caught sight of them.

He led her into a flowing spin and dipped his head close to hers. “I may have learnt a thing or two,” he admitted. “Side effect of dating an aristocratic pureblood.”

Sarah drew back slightly and raised an eyebrow at him. “I am not _aristocratic_ ,” she said in an affronted tone. “I am simply _élégante_.”

“Speaking in French doesn’t mean you’re any less uncouth,” Fred declared.

Sarah just smirked mischievously at him in response.

At that moment, a deep voice suddenly sounded beside them.

“May I cut in?”

Sarah and Fred looked up and Sarah let out a delighted squeal.

“Viktor!” she exclaimed, jumping forward to give him a hug. “I didn’t know Fleur invited you.”

“It has been too long, Sarah,” he said with a smile. Viktor turned to Fred. “I hope you do not mind?”

“Go ahead,” Fred said. “I’m going to go find Bill.”

He gave Sarah a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd. Viktor began to lead Sarah in a dance.

“How have you been?” Sarah asked excitedly. “I’m sorry I haven’t sent as many letters recently, things have been slightly…hectic.”

Viktor shook his head at her. “Do not vorry about that,” he said. “I haff been very vell. The team haff kept me very busy. How haff you been?”

“Erm, not so pleasant, truthfully,” Sarah said, spinning widely before coming back to her original position. “Things have been getting worse, even before Dumbledore’s death.”

“I vas very sorry to hear about that,” Viktor said softly. “I vanted to come for the funeral but I vas avay.”

“It’s probably better if you stay out of the country as much as you can,” frowned Sarah. “Things are most likely going to get worse.”

Viktor stared down at her, his dark eyes filled with worry.

“Vat are you going to be facing, Sarah?” he muttered. “Can I help at all?”

She smiled sadly back at him and shook her head. “You’re very kind, Viktor. Please stay safe.”

Viktor nodded and plastered a smile back on his face.

“I think I haff something that vill make you feel better,” he announced. He led her off the dancefloor toward a far corner. “Just over here.”

Sarah smiled broadly as she looked at where they were heading too. Two familiar figures were lounging at a table, chatting amiably with Draco.

“Sarah!” Aleksander cried. “Look at you! You’re taller!”

“Fuck off,” Sarah said fondly, punching his shoulder gently. “I see you haven’t changed a bit.”

That was a lie. Aleksander had always been a well-built boy but now he was a tall young man, with a strong jawline and chin-length dark hair, pulled back into a high bun. Sarah could see some of Fleur’s cousins giving him appreciative looks. Mila had also changed since they had last seen each other. Her blond hair now flowed into a lovely periwinkle blue, matching her eyes perfectly.

“Traumatised any children lately?” Mila smirked, her accent thick as ever.

Sarah echoed her expression. “Only my darling friends,” she said.

“That’s my girl,” grinned Mila. “Vhere’s your boyfriend?”

Sarah peered over the heads of the crowd and pointed towards where Fred, Bill and Charlie were standing, each holding drink.

“Oh, he’s very handsome,” said Mila. “Are any of his brothers single?”

Draco snorted and said, “Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” Mila asked. “There’s only so many options in the world.”

“And they shouldn’t have to be redheads,” Draco drawled. “You can do so much better.”

“You’re right,” Mila announced. “But I don’t want to.”

With that, she stood up, adjusted her dress and marched over to the trio, smiling slyly up at Charlie. Before anybody could say anything else, something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the owl landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus’s mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“ _The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”_


	4. Chapter Four

Everything seemed fuzzy and slow. Sarah and Draco jumped to their feet and drew their wands. Many people were only just realising that something strange had happened; heads were still turning toward the silver bird as it vanished. Silence spread outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody screamed.

Sarah and Draco searched hurriedly over the panicking crowd, looking for Harry or Hermione’s distinctive head of hair. Ron’s red mop would be impossible to discern. Aleksander gripped Sarah’s arm tightly in horror.

“What’s going on?” he shouted.

“We have to find the others!” she cried. “I’m sorry Alek but we have to leave.”

“Sarah! Draco! Wait!” he called after them as they ran into the crowd. Guests were sprinting in all directions; many were Disapparating; the protective enchantments around the Burrow had broken.

“Harry!” Draco screamed. “Harry, where are you?”

“Hermione! Ron!” Sarah yelled.

As they pushed their way across the dance floor, Sarah saw cloaked and masked figures appearing in the crowd; then she saw Remus and Sirius, their wands raised, and heard both of them shout, “ _Protego_!”, a cry that was echoed on all sides –

“Harry! Harry!” Draco called, half sobbing as he and Sarah were buffeted by terrified guests: Sarah seized his hand to make sure they weren’t separated as a streak of light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister she did not know –

And then Harry was there. Directly behind him were Hermione and Ron, both clutching at Harry so they didn’t lose him. Ron caught hold of Sarah’s free arm as Harry latched onto Draco, and Sarah felt Hermione turn on the spot; sight and sound were extinguished as darkness pressed in upon her; all she could feel was Ron’s hand as she squeezed through space and time, away from the Burrow, away from the descending Death Eaters, away, perhaps, from Voldemort himself…

“Where are we?” said Ron’s voice.

Sarah opened her eyes. For a moment, she was blinded by bright lights and soon realised they were surrounded by people.

“Tottenham Court Road,” panted Hermione. “Walk, just walk, we need to find somewhere for us to change.”

“Did you just Apparate five people?” Draco hissed to Hermione as they began to hurry down the sidewalk. “That was incredibly stupid.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Hermione snapped. “It wasn’t like we had time to discuss where we would be going.”

“Enough,” commanded Sarah. “We need to move.”

“Hermione, we haven’t got anything to change into,” Ron told her, as a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.

“Why didn’t I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me?” said Harry. “All last year I kept it on me and – “

“It’s okay, I’ve got the Cloak,” said Sarah.

“And I’ve got clothes for you,” said Hermione. “Just try and act naturally until – this will do.”

She led them down a side street, then into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway.

“When you say you’ve got the Cloak and clothes…” said Harry, frowning at Sarah and Hermione, who were carrying nothing but small handbags, in which both were now rummaging.

“Yes, they’re here,” said Hermione, pulling out jeans, sweatshirts and socks for Harry and Ron. Sarah did the same for Draco and also pulled out the Invisibility Cloak.

“How the ruddy hell - ?”

“Undetectable Extension Charm,” said Hermione. “Tricky, but I think I’ve done it okay; anyway, I managed to fit everything we need in here and Sarah’s bag.”

“When did you do this?” Harry asked as he, Ron and Draco stripped off their robes.

“We’ve had the essentials packed for weeks, you know, in case we needed to make a quick getaway,” explained Sarah. “I packed everything last night…Hermione and I just had a feeling…”

The boys handed Hermione their robes and she bundled them up, shoving them back into her beaded bag.

“Please, Harry, get that Cloak on!” Draco said and Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and pulled it over his head, vanishing from sight.

“The others – everyone at the wedding – “ he started.

“We can’t worry about that now,” whispered Hermione. “It’s you they’re after, Harry, and we’ll just put everyone in even more danger by going back.”

“She’s right,” said Draco, who seemed to know that Harry was about to argue, even if they couldn’t see his face. “Most of the Order was there, they’ll look after everyone.”

“Come on, I think we ought to keep moving,” said Sarah.

They moved back up the side street and onto the main road again, where a group of men on the opposite side was singing and weaving across the pavement.

“Just a matter of interest, why Tottenham Court Road?” Ron asked Hermione.

“I’ve no idea, it just popped into my head, but I’m sure we’re safer out in the Muggle world, it’s not where they’ll expect us to be.”

“True,” said Ron, looking around, “but don’t you feel a bit – exposed?”

“Where else is there?” asked Hermione, cringing as the men on the other side of the road started wolf-whistling at her and Sarah. “We can hardly book rooms at the Leady Cauldron, can we? And Grimmauld Place is out if Snape can get in there…I suppose we could try my parents’ house, though I think there’s a chance they might check there…Oh, I wish they’d shut up!”

“All right, darlings?” the drunkest of the men on the other pavement was yelling. “Fancy a drink? Ditch ginger and blondie and come and have a pint!”

“Let’s sit down somewhere,” Hermione said hastily as Ron, Draco and Sarah opened their mouths to shout back across the road. “Look, this will do, in here!”

It was a small, shabby all-night café. A light layer of grease lay on all the Formica-topped tables, but it was at least empty. Sara grimaced but followed the others to a booth, where after a moment’s hesitation, Draco slid in. Sarah guessed Harry had gotten in first, as Hermione and Ron slid into the other side without waiting. Hermione glanced over her shoulder so frequently she appeared to have a twitch.

After a moment of two, Ron said, “You know, we’re not too far from the Leaky Cauldron here, it’s only in Charing Cross – “

“Ron, we can’t!” said Sarah at once.

“Not to stay there, but to find out what’s going on!”

“We know what’s going on! Voldemort’s taken over the Ministry, what else do we need to know?”

“Okay, okay, it was just an idea!”

They relapsed into a prickly silence. The gum-chewing waitress shuffled over and Hermione ordered four cappuccinos. A pair of burly workmen entered the café and squeezed into the next booth. Hermione dropped her voice to a whisper.

“I say we find a quiet place to Disapparate and head for the countryside. Once we’re there, we could send a message to the Order.”

“Can you do that talking Patronus thing, then?” asked Ron.

“Sarah and I have been practising,” said Hermione.

“We could go to my place?” suggested Sarah. “The wards will keep everyone out that isn’t already keyed in.”

“That could work,” agreed Hermione, “but you’d have to Apparate us all in.”

Sarah nodded. “I can do that – what?” she asked Draco, turning to him. He had suddenly gripped her left wrist tightly. His eyes were focused on the workmen. “Draco, what?” she hissed.

The two workmen made identical movements, drawing their wands, and Sarah was pushed to the floor by Draco. Across from her, Ron had pushed Hermione down too. The force of the Death Eaters’ spells shattered the tiled wall where Ron’s head had just been, as Harry, still invisible, yelled, “ _Stupefy!”_

The great blond Death Eater was hit in the face by a jet of red light: he slumped sideways, unconscious. His companion, unable to see who had cast the spell, fired another spell at Sarah: shining black ropes flew from his wand-tip and bound Sarah head to foot – the waitress screamed and ran for the door – Draco sent a Stunning Spell at the Death Eater with the twisted face who had tied up Sarah, but the spell missed, rebounded on the window and hit the waitress, who collapsed in front of the door. Ron dived for cover in another booth and shot a spell blinding over his shoulder, clipping the standing Death Eater’s arm.

“ _Expulso!”_ bellowed the Death Eater, and the table behind which Draco was still standing blew up: the force of the explosions slammed him and Harry into the wall, the Cloak slipping off Harry. Sarah tumbled across the floor, her head smacking painfully into a chair corner before she slid to a stop.

 _“Petrificus Totalus!”_ screamed Hermione from out of sight, and the Death Eater fell forward like a statue to land with a crunching thud on the mess of broken china, table, coffee. Hermione crawled out from underneath the bench, shaking bits of glass ashtray out of her hair and trembling all over.

 _“D-diffindo,_ ” she said, pointing her wand at Sarah, who cried out in pain as she slashed open a deep cut on her ribs. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sarah, my hand’s shaking!”

 _“Diffindo!”_ Draco said steadily and the severed ropes fell away. Ron helped Sarah to her feet as she pointed her wand at herself, stemming the blood flow.

Harry picked up his wand and climbed over all the debris to where the large blond Death Eater was sprawled across the bench.

“I should’ve recognised him, he was there the night Dumbledore died,” he said. He turned over the darker Death Eater with his foot; the man’s eyes moved rapidly between the five of them.

“That’s Dolohov,” said Draco. “I recognised them. The other one’s Thorfinn Rowle.”

“Never mind what they’re called!” said Hermione a little hysterically. “How did they find us? What are we going to do?”

Her panic seemed to clear Harry’s head.

“Lock the door,” he told Hermione, “and Ron, turn out the lights. Sarah, can you check on the waitress?”

Sarah levitated the waitress to an undamaged booth and checked her for any injuries. Luckily, she was fine and just unconscious. Meanwhile, Ron used the Deluminator to plunge the café into darkness as Draco restored the broken furniture.

“What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered to Harry through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.”

Hermione shuddered and took a step backwards. Harry shook his head.

“We just need to wipe their memories,” said Harry. “It’s better like that, it’ll throw them off the scent. If we killed them it’d be obvious we were here.”

“You’re the boss,” said Sarah. “But Hermione’s the only one to have done a Memory Charm. I only know the theory.”

“Not like this…” Hermione said. She took a deep, calming breath, then pointed her wand at Dolohov’s forehead and said, “ _Obliviate.”_

At once, Dolohov’s eyes became unfocused and dreamy.

“Brilliant!” said Harry, clapping her on the back. “Take care of the other one while we help Draco clear up.”

Sarah walked over to the waitress and mimicked Hermione’s actions, hoping she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“How did they find us?” Draco asked once everything was back to normal. “How did they know exactly where we were?”

“The Trace is gone now,” said Sarah. “There’s no way they could be tracking us.”

“What if it’s on his magic?” Hermione suggested but Ron shook his head.

“Harry didn’t do any magic until they were already here,” he reminded them. “It has to be something else.”

“Well, now is not the time or place to be discussing this,” Sarah said. “We need to leave now.”

“Are you sure your house will be safe?” Hermione asked.

“Definitely,” nodded Sarah. “Everyone hold tight.”

Ron clicked the Deluminator as Hermione unlocked the café door. On Harry’s count, they reversed the spells upon their three victims, and before any of them could stir, Sarah had turned on the spot and the five of them vanished into the compressing darkness once more.

Seconds later, Sarah’s lungs expanded gratefully and she opened her eyes: they were now standing in the middle of a familiar decorated parlour. For the first time since the wedding, Sarah allowed herself a breath of relief. Her family manor was still and quiet, except for their breathing.

“Daisy,” Sarah said calmly. With a pop, a house-elf appeared before them, wearing a monogrammed silk pillowcase.

“Mistress Sarah is being back!” squeaked Daisy delightedly. “And she had friends. How can Daisy be helping?”

“Can you please make sure three spare bedrooms are prepared, as well as mine?” Sarah asked. “We’ll be staying here for the while but no one can know, okay?”

Daisy nodded her head, her large bat-like ears flapping.

“Of course, Mistress, no one is knowing,” said Daisy. “Shall I have tea sent up for Mistress and friends?”

“No, thank you, Daisy,” Sarah yawned. “I think we’ll be going to bed soon.”

Daisy smiled at them once more before disappearing with a small crack. Sarah turned tiredly toward her friends.

“I’m going to check the wards and see if I can get a message to anyone,” she muttered. “Your rooms are your old ones. We should get some sleep and decide on what to do tomorrow.”

Before anyone could move, a silver Patronus soared through the parlour window and landed upon the floor in front of them, where it solidified into the weasel that spoke with the voice of Ron’s father.

“ _Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.”_

The Patronus dissolved into nothingness. Ron let out a noise between a whimper and a groan and dropped onto the settee; Hermione joined him, gripping his arm.

“They’re all right, they’re all right!” she whispered, and Ron half laughed and hugged her.

“What about the others…?” Sarah said quietly, looking helplessly at Draco as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Viktor…Mila…Aleksander?”

“We just have to hope they got away,” said Harry.

Sarah nodded and pushed down the well of emotion that had risen in her chest. She broke away from Draco and hugged herself tightly.

“I’m going to bed,” she muttered. “I just really want this day to be over.”

***

Sarah woke up early the next day and for a few moments, hoped that everything had just been a dream. But then soft silk sheets registered under her fingertips and a familiar hand-painted canopy met her eyes. Immediately, tears began to well and no matter how much she tried she couldn’t blink them away. All the worry and fear she hadn’t allowed herself to feel last night flowed out of her as she lay there silently, tears streaming down her face.

A quiet knock on her door made her wiped her face hurriedly and take deep, steadying breaths.

“Sarah?” Hermione’s voice called through the thick wood. “Are you awake?”

“Yes, Hermione,” Sarah answered, sitting up. “Come in.”

Hermione pushed the door open slowly and closed it quietly behind her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, joining Sarah on the bed. “I checked on the boys, though, and I think they’ll sleep for a few more hours.”

Sarah nodded and sniffed, playing with her sheets as Hermione watched her worriedly.

“How are you?” Hermione asked gently.

“I’ll be okay,” Sarah replied, smiling slightly. “I – I was just scared.”

Hermione grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.

“I understand,” Hermione assured her. “I was terrified. I still am. We’re out here with only each other now – and I have no idea what we should do.”

Sarah nodded and took a shaky breath. “I just hate not knowing. So many of our friends – our _family_.”

“I know, Sarah, I know,” whispered Hermione. “But we have to be strong for the boys.”

Sarah took a deep breath and sat up straight. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m okay.”

“It’s all right if you’re not okay,” Hermione smiled softly. “Why don’t we go make some breakfast for everyone? Take our minds off everything for a while.”

“You know I have house-elves,” Sarah reminded Hermione as the other girl tugged Sarah off the bed.

Hermione frowned at her. “And you know how much I disagree with slave labour,” she said haughtily, descending into her usual lecture.

Sarah laughed brightly and allowed Hermione to lead her toward the kitchens, shaking her head all the way.

***

Sarah choked on her croissant when Kreacher appeared in the middle of the kitchen.

“What the fuck!” she yelled, coughing violently. “How the hell did you get in here?”

Sarah’s shout attracted the attention of the others. Hermione, Harry and Draco raced into the room and judging by the copious amounts of swearing and thumping overhead, Sarah guessed that Ron was attempting to make his way downstairs.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Draco asked. His wand was raised high but his face slackened with shock as he caught sight of the old house-elf. “ _Kreacher?_ ” he said incredulously.

“Nasty children making Kreacher be messenger…filthy half-breeds…Mistress would be so disappointed in her horrid spawn…” Kreacher muttered.

“Kreacher, enough!” Sarah demanded. “Why are you here?”

“M…M… _Master_ Sirius” – Kreacher sounded as though the words were poison in his mouth – “told me to check on you.”

“House-elf magic is untraceable,” Hermione explained to Harry in response to his confused expression.

“As you can see, we’re fine,” Draco said. “You can tell Sirius we’re safe.”

“Kreacher will be doing so,” croaked Kreacher, then he lowered his voice and muttered, “Pitiful excuse for a Black…disgrace to the honourable family…what my Mistress would think – “

“All right, Kreacher, we don’t really care what dear Walburga thinks,” Sarah interrupted quickly. A sudden thought struck her just as Kreacher bowed and prepared to leave. “Wait – Kreacher, has anyone accessed Grimmauld Place recently?”

Hermione shot her a narrow-eyed look but didn’t say anything. Ron appeared in the doorway, his shirt the wrong way.

Kreacher straightened and peered at her but said in a low voice, “No, no one has accessed the House of Black after your filth lived in it.” Sarah coughed pointedly and Kreacher glared at her. “It has been empty since you left.”

“Is the Fidelius still in place?” Draco pressed, picking up on Sarah’s train of thought.

Kreacher nodded reluctantly.

“Kreacher, we need you to clean up the place and make sure that no one unwelcome can access it,” Sarah ordered. “Can you do that?”

Kreacher didn’t answer immediately and for a moment before Draco spoke up.

“Kreacher, do what Sarah asked,” he said.

Kreacher seemed to remember that Draco was a Black and warmed up slightly, nodding so that his large ears began to flap.

“Kreacher can be doing that, Master Draco,” he croaked before disappearing with a crack.

“How come you get ‘Master Draco’?” mumbled Sarah. “And we all get ‘filth’.”

“I’m obviously from the best bloodline,” drawled Draco.

“Right, all that inbreeding has finally accounted for something other than your unearthly hair,” stated Ron, eliciting a rude gesture from Draco.

“Why do you want to go to Grimmauld Place, Sarah?” Harry asked Sarah.

“Because honestly, this place will most likely be one of the first places the Death Eaters look for us,” she explained. “And it doesn’t have a Fidelius Charm on it – but Grimmauld does.”

Hermione gasped as Ron’s face lost its colour.

“Once Kreacher comes back we should be – “ Draco’s words were interrupted by another crack and Kreacher appeared.

“The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black is ready for you, Master Draco,” Kreacher muttered, “and your… _friends…_ ”

“Oi, I’m an honourable pureblood too, Kreacher!” Sarah exclaimed.

Kreacher wisely ignored her and Disapparated.

“We should pack up and go,” Harry said. “There’s no reason for us to be here any longer than we need to be.”

Everyone nodded and dispersed.

Within thirty minutes, the five of them were standing in the entrance to Grimmauld Place, gazing around in silence at the place that three of them had called home until a few months ago.

“Well…I guess we should put our things away,” suggested Hermione. “Let’s meet in the dining room to discuss what we know.”

As Sarah, Harry and Draco were walking up to the third floor where their rooms were, Harry suddenly stopped.

“What is it?” Sarah asked.

“R.A.B,” said Harry.

“Pardon?” Draco said.

“R.A.B,” repeated Harry, pointing at the door. “I found him.”

Sarah followed his finger and saw a sign which said: DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT EXPRESS PERMISSION OF REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK.

“Sirius’ brother?” she whispered.

“He was a Death Eater,” Draco said, “my father mentioned him once. He joined up when he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave – so they killed him.”

“That fits!” gasped Sarah. “If he was a Death Eater he had access to Voldemort, and if he became disenchanted, then he would have wanted to bring Voldemort down!”

She turned around, gripped the bannister and screamed, “Hermione! Ron! Get up here, quick!”

Ron appeared first, panting, a minute later, Hermione on his heels. Both had their wands ready in their hands.

“What’s up? If it’s massive spiders again I want breakfast before I – “

Ron frowned at the sign on Regulus’s door, to which Harry was silently pointing.

“What? That was Sirius’s brother, wasn’t it? Regulus Arcturus…Regulus… _R.A.B_! The locket – you don’t reckon - ?”

“Let’s find out,” said Harry. He pushed open the door after a quick spell.

They moved over the threshold together, gazing around. Remus and Sirius had kept Regulus’s bedroom the same – Sarah had never been intrigued enough to enter it. the room was slightly smaller than her own, though it had the same sense of former grandeur. The Slytherin colours of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, TOUJOURS PUR. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. Hermione crossed the room to examine them.

“They’re all about Voldemort,” she said. “Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters…”

Sarah walked carefully around the room. “You know, Draco…This looks an awful lot like your room, except with less dragons and more psychotic maniac…”

“Oh, fuck off, Sarah,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

They combed through the room examining Quidditch memorabilia, souvenirs, various personal belongings, but no locket.

“It could be anywhere,” groaned Draco, running a hand through his messy hair. “Whether he managed to destroy it or not, he’d want to keep it hidden, wouldn’t he? Remember all those awful things we had to get rid of when we were here last time? That clock that shot bolts at everyone and those old robes that tried to strangle Sirius; Regulus might have put them there to protect the locket’s hiding place, even though we didn’t realise it at…at…”

Everyone looked at him. He was standing with one foot in the air, with the dumbstruck look of one who had just been Obliviated; his eyes had even drifted out of focus.

“…at the time,” he finished in a whisper.

“Er – babe, are you okay?” asked Harry.

“There was a locket.”

“What?” said Sarah, Ron, Harry and Hermione together.

“In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we…we…”

Sarah felt as though a brick had slid down through her chest into her stomach. She remembered: she had even handled the thing as they passed it around, each trying in turn to prise it open. It had been tossed into a sack of rubbish, along with the snuffbox of Wartcap powder and the music box that had made everyone sleepy…

“Kreacher nicked loads of things back from us,” said Harry. It was the only chance, the only slender hope left to them, and they were going to cling to it until forced to let go. “He had a whole stash of stuff in his cupboard in the kitchen. C’mon.”

He ran down the stairs taking two steps at a time, the others thundering along in his wake. They made so much noise that they woke the portrait of Sirius’ mother as they passed through the hall.

“ _Filth! Mudbloods! Scum!”_ she screamed after them as they dashed down into the basement kitchen and slammed the door behind them.

“I thought Sirius had managed to get rid of her,” Sarah commented mildly.

“He just put a Sticking Charm on her curtains,” Draco revealed.

“That’s great and all but we have other things to focus on right now,” hissed Harry.

He, Ron and Hermione were crouched in front of the Kreacher’s cupboard, looking disappointed.

“Kreacher!” called Draco.

There was a loud _crack_ as the house-elf appeared.

“What is young Master wanting now?” muttered Kreacher.

“I’ve got a question for you,” said Draco, “and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?”

“Yes, Master,” said Kreacher, bowing low.

“Two years ago,” said Draco, “there was a big gold locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out. Did you steal it back?”

There was a moment’s silence, during which Kreacher straightened up to look Draco full in the face. Then he said, “Yes.”

“Where is it now?” asked Harry jubilantly as Ron and Hermione looked gleeful.

Kreacher closed his eyes as though he could not bear to see their reactions to his next word.

“Gone.”

“Gone?” echoed Draco, looking as though hope was draining out of him. “What do you mean, it’s gone?”

The elf shivered. He swayed.

“Kreacher,” said Harry fiercely, “I order you – “

“Mundungus Fletcher,” croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut. “Mundungus Fletcher stole it all: Miss Bella’s and Miss Cissy’s pictures, my Mistress’s gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and – and – “

Kreacher was gulping for air: his hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream.

“ – _and the locket, Master Regulus’s locket, Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!”_

Harry acted instinctively: as Kreacher lunged for the poker standing in the grate, he launched himself upon the else, fattening him. Hermione’s scream mingled with Kreacher’s but Draco shouted louder than both of them: “Kreacher, I order you to stay still!”

The elf froze beneath Harry and the boy climbed off him. Kreacher lay flat on the cold stone floor, tears gushing from his sagging eyes. Sarah and Ron were gaping at the scene as Draco joined Harry at his side.

“Right, Kreacher, I want the truth: How do you know Mundungus Fletcher stole the locket?” Draco demanded.

“Kreacher saw him!” gasped the elf as tears poured over his snout and into his mouth full of greying teeth. “Kreacher saw him coming out of Kreacher’s cupboard with his hands full of Kreacher’s treasures. Kreacher told the sneak thief to stop, but Mundungus Fletcher laughed and r-ran…”

“When did Mundungus do this?” Sarah asked.

Kreacher glared at her slightly but answered, “After everything left. He came creeping in the night.”

“You called the locket ‘Master Regulus’s’,” said Harry. “Why? Where did it come from? What did Regulus have to do with it? Kreacher, sit up and tell me everything you know about the locket, and everything Regulus had to do with it!”

Clearly, Harry’s connection to Sirius as godson was enough for Kreacher’s magic to recognise him as a master, for Kreacher sat up, curled into a ball, and placed his wet face between his knees, rocking backwards and forward. When he spoke, his voice was muffled but quite distinct in the silent, echoing kitchen.

“Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress’s heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper pride; he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure blood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggleborns…and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve…”

Kreacher took in a shuddering breath.

“And one day, a year after he had joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always likes Kreacher. And Master Regulus said…he said…”

The old elf rocked faster than ever.

“…he said that the Dark Lord required an elf.”

“Voldemort needed an _elf_?” Harry repeated, looking around at the others, puzzled.

“Oh, yes,” moaned Kreacher. “And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honour, said Master Regulus, and honour for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do…and then to c-come home.”

Kreacher rocked still faster, his breath coming in sobs.

“So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave there was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake…”

Sarah’s breath caught as she remembered the description of Harry’s trip with Dumbledore, quietly whispered one sleepless night a few days before Dumbledore’s funeral.

“…There was a boat…”

Harry had gone extremely pale. Draco gripped his hand tightly as Kreacher continued.

“There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it…”

The elf quaked from head to foot.

“Kreacher drank, and he drank, he saw terrible things…Kreacher’s insides burned…Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed…He made Kreacher drink all the potion…He dropped a locket into the empty basin…He filled it with more potion. And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island…”

Kreacher sniffled again.

“Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island’s edge and he drank from the black lake…and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface…”

“How did you get away?” Sarah asked, and she was not surprised to hear herself whispering.

Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked Sarah with his great, bloodshot eyes.

“Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back,” he said.

“I know – but how did you escape the Inferi?” asked Harry.

Kreacher did not seem to understand.

“Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back,” he repeated.

“I know, but – “

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it, Harry?” said Ron. “He Disapparated!”

“But…you couldn’t Apparate in and out of that cave,” said Harry, “otherwise Dumbledore – “

“Elf magic isn’t like wizard’s magic,” said Draco. “I mean, they can Apparate and Disapparate in and out of Hogwarts when we can’t.”

There was a silence as they digested this. Sarah wasn’t really surprised that Voldemort made such a mistake. Hermione obviously thought the same.

“Of course, Voldemort would have considered that ways of house-elves beneath his notice, just like all the purebloods who treat them like animals…It would never have occurred to him that they might have magic that he didn’t.” Her voice was icy.

“The house-elf’s highest law is his Master’s bidding,” intoned Kreacher. “Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home…”

“Well, then, you did what you were told, didn’t you?” said Hermione kindly. “You didn’t disobey orders at all!”

Kreacher shook his head, rocking as fast as ever.

“So what happened when you got back?” Draco asked. “What did Regulus say when you told him what had happened?”

“Master Regulus was very worried, very worried,” croaked Kreacher. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then…it was a little while later…Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell…and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord…”

“And he made you drink the potion?” said Harry, disgusted.

But Kreacher shook his head and wept. Sarah sighed softly as she realised what he meant. Hermione must have understood as well, for her hands leapt to her mouth.

“M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had,” said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snoutlike nose. “And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets…”

Kreacher’s sobs came in great rasps now; Sarah had to concentrate hard to understand him.

“And he ordered – Kreacher to leave – without him. And he told Kreacher – to go home – and never to tell my Mistress – what he had done – but to destroy – the first locket. And he drank – all the potion – and Kreacher swapped the lockets – and watched…as Master Regulus…was dragged beneath the water…and…”

“Oh, Merlin,” said Sarah in a stricken voice, grabbing Hermione’s arm. “And Sirius doesn’t know.”

The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears. Sarah had never seen anything so pitiful.

“So you brought the locket home,” Harry said relentlessly. “And you tried to destroy it?”

“Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it,” moaned the elf. “Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work…So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open…Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locker! And his Mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared, and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave…”

Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words. Tears flowed down Hermione’s cheeks as she watched Kreacher, but she did not say anything. Even Ron, who was no fan of Kreacher’s, looked troubled. Harry leant back against Draco and shook his head slowly.

“I don’t understand you, Kreacher,” he said finally. “Voldemort tried to kill you, Regulus died to bring Voldemort down, but you were still happy to betray Sirius to Voldemort? You were happy to go to Narcissa and Bellatrix, and pass information to Voldemort through them…”

“Harry, Kreacher doesn’t think like that,” said Sarah. “Sirius was horrible to him. And when he was ordered to get out, he went to the next member of the family – Narcissa.”

“Mother didn’t give Kreacher any information,” Draco told them. “But he must have spoken to Bellatrix after she escaped Azkaban.”

“Kreacher hasn’t known any better…” added Sarah softly. “What Voldemort did was nothing compared to the treatment by the Blacks.”

“Kreacher,” said Draco after a while, “when you feel up to it, er…please sit up.”

It was several minutes before Kreacher hiccupped himself into silence. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position again, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a small child.

“Kreacher, I am going to ask you to do something,” said Draco. He glanced at Sarah for assistance and she nodded quickly at him. “Kreacher, I want you, please, to go and find Mundungus Fletcher. We need to find out where the locket – where Master Regulus’s locket is. It’s really important. We want to finish the work Master Regulus started, we want to – er – ensure that he didn’t die in vain.”

Kreacher dropped his fists and looked up at Draco.

“Find Mundungus Fletcher?” he croaked.

“And bring him here to Grimmauld Place,” said Draco. “Do you think you could do that for us?”

As Kreacher nodded and got to his feet, Harry suddenly moved. He pulled out Hagrid’s moleskin purse he had gotten a few years ago and took out the fake Horcrux.

“Kreacher, I’d, er, like you to have this,” he said, pressing the locket into the elf’s hand. “This belonged to Regulus and I’m sure he’d want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you – “

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” Sarah muttered, as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock and misery, and threw himself back onto the ground.

It took them nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome to be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own that he was too weak at the knees to stand properly. When finally he was able to totter a few steps they all accompanied him to his cupboard, watched his tuck up the locket safely in his dirty blankets, and assured him that they would make its protection their first priority while he was away. He then made low bows to Harry, Ron, Draco and Sarah, and even gave a funny little spasm in Hermione’s direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute, before Disapparating with the usual loud _crack_.


	5. Chapter Five

Kreacher did not return the following day, nor the day after that. However, two cloaked men had appeared in the square outside number twelve, and they remained there into the night, gazing in the direction of the house that they could not see.

“Death Eaters, for sure,” said Ron, as he, Sarah and Hermione watched from the drawing room windows. “Reckon they know we’re in here?”

“I don’t think so,” said Sarah. “I just want to know how they keep finding us.”

“They may have already checked your manor and then decided to come here,” Hermione said. “They would know that we felt comfortable here.”

The presence of the Death Eaters outside increased the ominous mood inside number twelve. They had not heard a word from anyone beyond Grimmauld Place since Mr Weasley’s Patronus, ad the strain was starting to tell. Restless and irritable, Ron had developed an annoying habit of playing with the Deluminator in his pocket. This particularly infuriated Hermione, who was whiling away the wait for Kreacher by studying _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and did not appreciate the way the lights kept flashing on and off.

“Will you stop it!” she cried on the third evening of Kreacher’s absence, as all light was sucked from the drawing room yet again.

“Sorry, sorry!” said Ron, clicking the Deluminator and restoring the lights. “I don’t know I’m doing it!”

“Well, can’t you find something useful to occupy yourself?”

“What, like reading kids’ stories?”

“Dumbledore left me this book, Ron – “

“ – and he left me the Deluminator, maybe I’m supposed to use it!”

Unable to stand the bickering, Sarah slipped out of the room unnoticed by either of them. She headed downstairs toward the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. Just as she hopped up on the table and took her first sip, she heard a tap on the front door, then metallic clicks and the grinding of the chain.

Every nerve in her body seemed to tauten. She put down her tea and pulled out her wand, moving slowly into the shadows of the stairs leading to the entry hall. The door opened and she saw a glimpse of the lamplit square outside as a cloaked figure edged into the hall and closed the door behind it.

Sarah crept as close as she dared to the figure and raised her wand. Wordlessly, she shot a Disarming spell at whoever it was and then tied them up with rope before stepping into the hall.

“Oh, Merlin, _Remus_!” she exclaimed. She rushed forward to undo her spells but stopped suddenly. “Wait – how I do I know you’re actually him?” she demanded. 

“Your Animagus form is a cat whose fur can change colour,” Remus gasped. “You showed Sirius first and I don’t think you’ve shown the others yet.”

Sarah sighed in relief and reversed the spells on him, helping him to his feet.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, hugging him tightly. Loud footsteps behind them indicated that the others had heard Sarah’s shout.

Remus was wrapped in a thick black travelling cloak, he looked exhausted but pleased to see them.

“How’s Sirius? And the Weasleys?” Harry said quickly.

“Everyone’s fine,” said Remus, “but we’re all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside – “

“We know – “

“I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they would not see me. They can’t know you’re in here or I’m sure they’d have more people out there; they’re staking out everywhere that’s got any connection with you, Harry. Let’s go downstairs, there’s a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened after you left the Burrow.”

They descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the grate. A fire sprang up immediately. Sarah reclaimed her abandoned tea and sat cross-legged on the table as Remus produced butterbeers for the others.

“I’d have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eaters trailing Sirius and I. We split up and I managed to get somewhere safe and then came here – well, I actually checked your manor, Sarah and then came here when I found it empty. Did you come straight here after the wedding?”

“No,” said Sarah, “we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a café on Tottenham Court Road and then went to my place.”

Remus slopped most of his butterbeer down his front.

“ _What?_ ”

They explained what had happened; when they had finished, Remus looked aghast.

“But how did they find you so quickly? It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear!”

“And it doesn’t seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road at the time, does it?” said Harry.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” muttered Draco, pinching the top of his nose.

“Tell us what happened after we left, we haven’t heard a thing since Ron’s dad told us the family were safe,” Harry said, ignoring Draco.

“Well, Kingsley save us,” said Remus. “Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived – including your Bulgarian friends, Sarah.”

“Were they Death Eaters of Ministry people?” interjected Hermione.

“A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they’re the same thing now,” said Remus. “There were about a dozen of them, but they didn’t know you were there, Harry. Arthur heard a rumour that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it’s true, he didn’t give you away.”

None of them had liked Scrimgeour but knowing that the man’s final act had been to protect Harry was shocking and yet gratifying.

“The Death Eater searched the Burrow from top to bottom,” Remus went on. “They found the ghoul but didn’t want to get too close – and then they interrogated those who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but nobody knew where you had gone. Sirius and I were already gone by then but Arthur filled me in via Patronus.”

“So the Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry behind them now?” Sarah asked angrily.

“They’ve managed to penetrate every defensive and protective spell we’ve used,” Remus explained. “They’ve got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. Also…that’s not all…”

He pulled out a folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_. A huge photograph of Harry’s face filled the front page with a headline about questions regarding Dumbledore’s death. Sarah pushed it away with a sound of disgust as Hermione asked, “But surely people realise what’s going on?”

“The coup has been smooth and virtually silent,” said Remus. “Official statement is that Scrimgeour resigned and has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who is under the Imperius Curse.”

“Thicknesse is a valuable asset,” Draco sighed. “They’d have complete control.”

“They’ve also started to move against Muggleborns,” Remus said, pointing at the newspaper again. “They believe that Muggleborns are acquiring magic through theft.”

“Utterly ridiculous,” scoffed Sarah. “If people could steal magic there wouldn’t be any Squibs.”

“Have you made any progress on the mission Dumbledore gave you?” Remus asked. “I know you can’t tell me any details but are you sure you don’t want me to come along with you for protection?”

“You should stay with Sirius,” Sarah said. “You may end up being more help away from us.”

“Yes, but – “ Remus started but something in his voice made Sarah frown.

“Remus, what is it?” she asked slowly. “You’ve always let it go before – usually Sirius is the one to argue. On that note, where _is_ Sirius?”

“He’s – uh – he’s…” Remus stuttered. Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Draco and Harry exchange a confused glance. “He’s at home.”

“Remus, what are you hiding?” Sarah said sharply.

Remus dropped his head into his hands and muttered, so lowly that Sarah almost missed it, “Tonks is pregnant.”

She waited but Remus didn’t say anything else.

“And that’s important because…?” Sarah prompted. “I mean, congratulations to Tonks and everything…”

“It’s important…because it’s Sirius and my child,” Remus admitted quietly. Hermione gasped loudly.

“ _WHAT?”_ Sarah shrieked. “Your _child?”_

“Yes,” Remus said. “We’ve been thinking about it for a while but it wasn’t until last year that Sirius and I actively did anything about it. We were going to tell you but we weren’t sure that it would actually happen…”

“But why would you ask to come with us if you have a baby on the way?” Harry demanded. “You would just try to leave your partner and child?”

“No! No!” Remus gasped in a rush. “I want to protect them _and_ you.”

“Remus, the best way to protect them would be to stay with them!” Sarah said, much louder than she meant to but she was getting angry.

“You don’t understand, Sarah!” snapped Remus.

“Then explain it to me,” she hissed. “Explain to me why you think it would be a good idea to _abandon_ – “

“I am not abandoning them!” yelled Remus. “I’m trying to keep them safe!”

“BULLSHIT!” screamed Sarah. “You’re being a coward!”

Remus sprang to his feet; Sarah jumping up right after him, fuming.

“Don’t you understand what I’ve done to Sirius and my unborn child? I should never have accepted – I’ve made them an outcast!”

Remus kicked at the chair he had vacated.

“And the child – the child – “

Remus actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged.

“My kind don’t usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it – how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!”

“Remus!” whispered Hermione, tears in her eyes. “Don’t say that – how could any child be ashamed of you?”

“I’M A MONSTER!” shouted Remus. “An abomination! An – “

Sarah slapped him across the face.

“Don’t you – you – “ she panted furiously. “Don’t you _dare_ say that! Never!”

Remus and the others stared at her in shock.

“You are _not_ a monster, Remus,” she practically growled. “You may be acting like an absolute _imbecile_ at the moment but you – are – not – a – monster!”

“Sarah – “ he started.

“No!” she shouted, poking him in the chest. “You listen to me! You are one of the bravest, kindest men I know. You have been a father to me these last few years and I will never be able to express how grateful I am for that. But for you to stand here and tell me you want to leave your _unborn child_ because there is the _slight_ _possibility_ that they might have lycanthropy – it’s – it’s _ridiculous_! Completely ludicrous!”

“Parents,” said Harry quietly, “shouldn’t leave their kids unless – unless they’ve got to.”

Remus stared at them all silently. It was a long while before he spoke again.

“What if it’s like me?” he whispered, stricken. He crumpled into his chair, head falling into his hands. “What if I’ve cursed it to a life of hatred?”

Sarah dropped to her knees in front of him and grabbed his hands in hers.

“Then we will love it as much as we love you,” she promised. “Remus – nothing could ever make us hate your child.”

“Besides,” Ron said in a strained voice from behind them, “by the time they grow up, Hermione would have most likely rewritten all the laws.”

Remus let out a wet laugh. Harry came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t leave them,” he said in a serious tone. “You have the opportunity to have a family with Sirius. Don’t let that go. I know that my parents would have wanted nothing more than to see me grow up. Don’t let your child suffer the same way I did.”

“Also, Sirius would murder you if he ever found out your had considered leaving,” Draco commented idly. “It was admittedly not one of your smartest ideas.”

Sarah squeezed Remus’s hands to make him look up at her.

“Don’t ever think you’re not good enough,” she said fiercely. “You’re my family and I need you, but so do they. You need to be with Sirius and Tonks right now and when they’re born, you need to look after your child.”

Remus nodded and looked between them all.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for – for even considering it.”

“Don’t do it again,” Harry said sternly, dropping his hand and stepping back.

Remus stood up and pulled Sarah into a tight hug.

“I love you, you know?” he whispered to her.

She tightened her arms around him and murmured back, “I love you, too, Remus.”

Remus pulled back and stared at them all for a long moment.

“I don’t think it’s safe for me to come back again soon,” he said. “I’ll let the others know you’re okay.”

“Remus,” Draco said quickly. “Don’t take this the wrong way – but – don’t come back at all.”

“Why not?” Remus said, frowning.

“Because we’re not certain we’ll be here,” explained Sarah. “It’s safer if you don’t know where we are or what we’re planning.”

Remus didn’t look happy about that at all.

“Don’t even try arguing,” Harry said pre-emptively. “We wouldn’t tell you anything either way.”

Remus huffed in annoyance and shook his head.

“You’re all going to be the death of me,” he sighed.

“Unless Voldy gets to us first!” Sarah said brightly.

Ron, who had just been taking a sit of butterbeer, choked and began coughing violently as butterbeer sprayed from his nose.

“I should be going,” Remus said, smiling as Hermione and Harry attempted to clean butterbeer off themselves while making sure Ron didn’t die. “Do you want me to tell anyone anything?”

After Ron and Sarah had given messages to be passed along, Remus waved goodbye to them and left, the _crack_ of Disapparation echoing in the silent hallway.

***

They eventually trooped back into the kitchen. Hermione had summoned one of her books and sat reading it while Sarah braided her hair, balanced on the table; Harry was flipping through the _Daily Prophet_ Remus had left, scowling down at the exert from Rita Skeeter’s new novel about Albus Dumbledore’s life; and Draco and Ron had commenced a silent chess game when a sudden _crack_ scared them all half to death.

Sarah shrieked and fell off the table, barely missing the struggling pile of limbs that had appeared out of thin air. Hermione helped her to her feet as Kreacher disentangled himself and, bowing low to the group, croaked, “Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master.”

Mundungus scrambled up and pulled out his wand; Draco, however, was too quick for him.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_

Mundungus’ wand soared into the air and Draco caught it. Wild-eyed, Mundungus dived for the stairs: Ron rugby-tackled him and Mundungus hit the stone floor with a muffled crunch.

“What?” he bellowed, writing in his attempt to free himself from Ron’s grip. “Wha’ve I done? Setting a bleedin’ ‘ouse-elf on me, what are you playing at, wha’ve I done, lemme go, lemme go, or – “

“You’re not in much of a position to make threats,” said Sarah, pointing her own wand at Mundungus.

Harry threw aside the newspaper, crossed the kitchen in a few strides, and dropped to his knees beside Mundungus, who stopped struggling and looked terrified. Ron got up, panting, and watched as Harry pointed his wand deliberately at Mundungus’s nose. Mundungus stand of stale sweat and tobacco smoke, his hair was matted and his robes stained.

Sarah grimaced and delicately covered her nose, stepping away from him like he was a pile of discarded trash.

“Kreacher apologises for the delay in bringing the thief, Masters,” croaked the elf. “Fletcher knows how to avoid capture, has many hidey-holes and accomplices. Nevertheless, Kreacher cornered the thief in the end,”

“You’ve done really well, Kreacher,” said Draco, and the elf bowed low.

“Right, we’ve got a few questions for you,” Harry told Mundungus, who shouted at once.

“I panicked, okay? I never wanted to come along, no offense, mate, but I never volunteered to die for you, an’ that was bleedin’ You-Know-Who come flying at me, anyone woulda got outta there, I said all along I didn’t wanna do it – “

“For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated,” said Hermione.

“He _is_ a scabby coward,” offered Sarah lightly.

“Well, you’re a bunch of bleedin’ ‘eroes then, aren’t you, but I never pretended I was up for killing meself – “ Mundungus grunted.

“No,” drawled Draco, “you’d rather kill Mad-Eye.”

“We’re not interested in why you ran out on Mad-Eye,” said Harry, moving his wand a little closer to Mundungus’s baggy, bloodshot eyes. “We already knew you were an unreliable bit of scum.”

“Well then, why the ‘ell am I being ‘unted down by ‘ouse-elves?”

“Shut up and listen,” snapped Harry. “When you cleaned out this house of anything valuable – “

“Sirius never cared about any of the junk – “ interrupted Mundungus.

There was the sound of pattering feet, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony: Kreacher had take a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan.

“Call ‘im off, call ‘im off, ‘e should be locked up!” screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again.

“Kreacher, no!” shouted Harry as Sarah clapped and trilled, “Fabulous, Kreacher! Outstanding form!”

Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft.

“Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?”

Ron and Draco laughed.

“We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading you can do the honours,” said Harry.

“Thank you very much, Master,” said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.

“That would have been incredibly amusing,” Draco muttered in disappointment.

“When you stripped this house of all the valuables you could find,” Harry began again after a fond look at Draco, “you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a locket there. What did you do with it?”

“Why?” said Mundungus. “Is it valuable?”

“Typical,” scoffed Sarah.

“You’ve still got it!” cried Hermione.

“No, he hasn’t,” said Ron shrewdly. “He’s wondering whether he should have asked more money for it.”

“More?” said Mundungus. “That wouldn’t have been effing difficult…bleedin’ gave it away, did’n’ I? No choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was selling in Diagon Alley and she come up to me and asks if I’ve got a license for trading in magical artifacts. Bleedin’ snoop. She was gonna fine me, but she took a fancy to the locket an’ told me she’d take it and let me off that time, and to fink meself lucky.”

“Who was this woman?” asked Draco.

“I dunno, some Ministry hag.”

Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled.

“Little woman. Bow on top of ‘er head.”

He frowned and then added, “Looked like a toad.”

Harry dropped his wand: it hit Mundungus on the nose and shot red sparked into his eyebrows, which ignited.

“ _Aguamenti!”_ screamed Hermione, and a jet of water streamed from her wand, engulfing a spluttering and choking Mundungus.

Sarah looked up and saw her own shock reflected on the other four faces. The scars on the back of her hand seemed to be tingling again as Draco muttered quietly.

“ _Well, that’s_ _fucking perfect.”_


	6. Chapter Six

As August wore on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place shrivelled in the sun until it was brittle and brown. The inhabitants of number twelve were never seen by anybody in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve itself. The Muggles who lived in Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing mistake in the numbering that had caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen.

And yet the square was now attracting a trickle of visitors who seemed to find the anomaly most intriguing. Barely a day passed without one or two people arriving in Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seemed, than to lean against the railings facing number eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear such long cloaks in this heat.

The watchers seemed to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil. Occasionally one of them started forward excitedly, as if they had seen something interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed.

On the first day of September, there were more people lurking in the square than ever before. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stood silent and watchful, gazing at houses elven and thirteen, but the thing for which they were waiting still appeared elusive. As evening drew in, bringing with it an unexpected gust of chilly rain for the first time in weeks, there occurred one of those inexplicable moments when they appeared to have seen something interesting. The man with the twisted face pointed and his closest companion, a podgy, pallid man, started forward, but a moment later they had relaxed into their previous state of inactivity, looking frustrated and disappointed.

Meanwhile, inside number twelve, Sarah drew the curtain shut as she heard the front door close a level below. A moment later, Harry appeared in the doorway to the library, his Invisibility Cloak draped over his arm.

“Did you slip?” she asked him, accepting the Cloak which he handed her, stowing it in her ever-present handbag.

Harry scoffed lightly. “Front step. How’d you know?”

Sarah cocked her head toward the window. “Dolohov looked quite interested all of a sudden.”

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his messy mop of hair.

“I have news,” he announced, “and you won’t like it.”

A flick of Sarah’s wand had the others alerted that they needed to meet the pair in the library. Within minutes, Hermione, Draco and Ron walked through the doorway and took available seats around the large room.

“Snape is Headmaster at Hogwarts,” Harry declared, slapping down a copy of today’s newspaper.

“No!” said Ron and Hermione loudly.

Hermione snatched the newspaper and read it aloud angrily, Ron’s face getting gradually redder and redder. Draco’s face was blank; it wasn’t surprising considering his current rocky relationship with his godfather.

“Merlin’s pants!” Hermione shrieked suddenly, making everyone jump. She leapt up from the couch and hurtled from the room, shouting as she went, “I’ll be back in a minute!”

“’Merlin’s pants’?” repeated Ron, looking amused. “She must be upset.”

Draco walked up to the window and pulled the curtain back slightly.

“There are still a large number of Death Eaters watching the house,” he told the others, “more than usual. It’s like they’re hoping we’ll march out carrying our school trunks and head off for the Hogwarts Express.”

Ron glanced at his wand.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he said. “It left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not being on it, isn’t it?”

“They nearly saw me coming back in just now,” Harry told Ron and Draco. “I landed badly on the top step and the Cloak slipped.

“I do that every time. Oh, here she is,” Ron added, craning around in his seat to watch Hermione reentering the library. “And what in the name of Merlin’s most saggy Y fronts was that about?”

“I remembered this,” Hermione panted.

She was carrying a large, framed picture, which she now lowered to the floor before seizing her small, beaded bag from the floor. Opening it, she proceeded to force the painting inside, and despite the fact that it was patently too large to fit inside the tiny bag, within a few seconds it had vanished, like so much else, into the bag’s capacious depths.

“Phineas Nigellus,” Hermione explained as she threw the bag onto the low coffee table with the usual, sonorous, clanking crash.

“Sirius’s ancestor?” Draco asked in surprise.

“Snape could send Phineas Nigellus to look inside this house for him,” Hermione explained as she resumed her seat. “But let him try it now, all Phineas Nigellus will be able to see is the inside of my handbag.”

“Good thinking,” Sarah said.

“Thank you,” smiled Hermione. She turned to Harry, “So, what else happened today?”

“Nothing,” said Harry. “Watched the Ministry entrance for seven hours. No sign of her. Saw your dad, though, Ron. He looks fine.”

Ron nodded his appreciation of the news. They had agreed that it was far too dangerous to try and communicate with Mr Weasley while he walked in and out of the Ministry, because he was always surrounded by other Ministry workers. It was, however, reassuring to catch these glimpses of him, even if he did look very strained and anxious.

“Dad always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work,” Ron said.

“Umbridge wouldn’t walk,” Draco stated. “She believes she’s too important for that.”

“And what about that funny old witch and that little wizard in the navy robes?” Hermione asked.

“Oh yeah, the bloke from Magical Maintenance,” said Draco.

“How do you know he works for Magical Maintenance?” Hermione asked shrilly.

“Dad said everyone from Magical Maintenance wears navy robes,” Ron added.

“But you never told us that!” shrieked Hermione. She pulled her handbag toward her and began rummaging for the sheet of notes they had been keeping over the past few weeks.

“Well, does it really matter?” Ron asked, quite idiotically in Sarah’s opinion.

“Ron, it _all_ matters! If we’re going to get into the Ministry and not give ourselves away when they’re _bound_ to be on the lookout for intruders, every little detail matters! We’ve been over and over this, I mean, what’s the point of all these reconnaissance trips if you aren’t even bothering to tell us – “

“Blimey, Hermione, why are you shouting at me? I forget one little thing – “

“You do realise, don’t you, that there’s probably no more dangerous place in the whole world for us to be right now than the Ministry of – “

“I think we should do it tomorrow,” said Harry.

Hermione stopped dead, her jaw hanging; Sarah, Draco and Ron all gaped at Harry.

“I’m sorry, did you say _tomorrow_?” repeated Sarah. “Surely, you aren’t serious?”

“I am,” said Harry. “I don’t think we’re going to be much better prepared than we are now even if we skulk around the Ministry entrance for another month. The longer we put it off, the farther away that locket could be. There’s already a good chance Umbridge has chucked it away; the thing doesn’t open.”

“Unless,” said Ron, “she’s found a way of opening it and she’s now possessed.”

“Wouldn’t make any difference to her, she was so evil in the first place,” Draco shrugged.

Hermione was biting her lip, deep in thought.

“We know everything important,” Harry went on. “We know they’re stopped Apparation in and out of the Ministry. We know only the most senior Ministry members are allowed to connect their homes to the Floor Network now, because Draco heard those two Unspeakables complaining about it. And we know roughly where Umbridge’s office is, because of what Sarah heard that bearded bloke saying to his mate – “

“’ _I’ll be up on level one, Dolores wants to see me’,”_ Sarah dutifully recited.

“Exactly,” said Harry gratefully. “And we know you get in using those funny coins, or tokens, or whatever they are, because I saw that witch borrowing one from her friend – “

“But we haven’t got any!” said Hermione worriedly.

“If the plan works, we will have,” Harry continued calmly.

“I don’t know, Harry, I don’t know…There are an awful lot of things that could go wrong, so much relies on chance…”

“That’ll be true even if we spend another three months preparing,” argued Harry. “It’s time to act.”

“I think Harry’s right,” Sarah confessed. “There’s no point in waiting much longer. I say we go and get that locket and then carry on with our jolly plan to kill the Dark wanker.”

“All right,” said Ron slowly, “let’s say we go for it tomorrow…I think it should just be me and Harry.”

“Oh, don’t start this again!” sighed Hermione. “I thought we’d settle this.”

“There is no way we’re letting the two of you go alone!” snapped Draco.

The three of them quickly descended into bickering but Sarah wasn’t paying attention. Harry’s hand had jumped to his forehead suddenly with a grimace of pain.

“Well, if all five of us go, we’ll have to Disapparate separately,” Ron was saying. “We can’t all fit under the Cloak anymore.”

“I won’t need to be under the Cloak,” Sarah said distractedly, eyes trained on Harry.

“I’ll be back in a minute – bathroom – “ he muttered.

Sarah followed him as he hurried down the hall and dashed into the bathroom. He only groaned slightly when he saw her but didn’t send her away. She bolted the door behind them. Harry grunted with pain and slumped over the black basin, closing his eyes. Sarah gripped him around the waist to keep him upright as he seemed to pass out, sagging against her.

“Harry,” she said, putting a hand to his forehead. It was clammy and he was shaking. “Harry, you need to focus on my voice,” she said slowly.

Harry began to mutter, his voice getting gradually louder; loud enough that Sarah cast a Silencing Spell at the door to keep the others from coming to them.

The pair sunk to the floor as Harry’s voice began to crack from his shouts. Sarah took a deep breath, said, “Sorry, darling,” and then slapped him hard across the face.

Harry gasped and his eyes flew open. Sarah brushed his hair out of his eyes as she waited for him to catch his breath.

“How often has this been happening?” she asked him quietly, stroking his hair.

Harry took in a shuddering breath. “More often of late,” he admitted. “I used to be able to keep him fully out but now…”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Sarah comforted. “What did you see?”

Harry sat down on the edge of the bath.

“Voldemort murdering a woman. By now he’s probably killed her entire family. And he didn’t need to. It was Cedric all over again, they were just _there_ …” he muttered.

“Anything else?”

Harry pressed his palms to his eyes.

“Something about Gregorovitch – “ he said.

“The wandmaker?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Voldemort wanted to know what my wand did when he was chasing me, because Ollivander didn’t know.”

“Makes sense,” Sarah nodded. “He’d want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Harry looked at her in surprise. “You believe me?” he asked. “About my wand?”

Sarah smiled at him crookedly. “Harry, darling, not even you are dramatic enough to make up a story about your wand taking control and firing an unknown spell at Voldemort. Of course, I believe you.”

He sagged in relief. “Thanks, Sarah.”

“We should get some sleep,” she suggested. “We’re going to need it tomorrow.”

When they unlocked to door, they saw an unimpressed Draco leaning against the opposite wall, a scowl upon his face.

“The others have gone to bed,” he said in greeting. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Aaaaaaand I’ll leave that to you, darling,” muttered Sarah to Harry. She patted Harry on the arm before making a hasty exit, pressing a quick kiss to Draco’s cheek as she passed.

She didn’t get the peaceful sleep she was hoping for, however, for not even five minutes after she had left the lovebirds downstairs, Hermione appeared at her door, arms full of parchment and quills. Thus, began the reluctant recounting of their plan with a stressed-out Hermione Granger. It wasn’t until much, _much_ later that Sarah kicked Hermione out of her room and collapsed into an exhausted sleep on the bed, her mind full of Polyjuice Potion, Puking Pastilles and Decoy Detonators.

***

Dawn came much too early for Sarah’s liking.

“You look terrible,” was Ron’s greeting as he entered the room to wake her up.

“You have such a way with women, Ronald,” grumbled Sarah in reply.

They found Hermione, Harry and Draco downstairs in the kitchen. They were being served coffee and hot rolls by Kreacher and looked much more awake than Sarah felt. Hermione was wearing a slightly manic expression that Sarah associated with exam review.

“Robes,” she said under her breath, acknowledging their presence with a nervous nod and continuing to poke around in her beaded bag, “Polyjuice Potion…Decoy Detonators…We should all take a couple just in case…Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Nougat, Extendable Ears…”

Hermione’s twitchiness was making it difficult for Sarah not to grab her own bag and compulsively check its contents. They gulped down their breakfast, then set off upstairs, Kreacher bowing them out and promising to have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for them when they returned. Draco muttered something incomprehensible to the elf before hurrying out of the room.

They made their way onto the front step with immense caution: they could see a couple of puffy-eyed Death Eaters watching the house from across the misty square – Sarah gave them the finger.

Hermione Disapparated with Ron first, then came back for Harry as Sarah Disapparated with Draco.

After the usual brief spell of darkness and near suffocation, Sarah found herself in the tiny alleyway where the first phase of their plan was scheduled to take place. It was as yet deserted, except for a couple of large bins; the first Ministry workers did not usually appear here until at least eight o’clock.

“Right then,” said Hermione, checking her watch. “She ought to be here in about five minutes. When I’ve Stunned her – “

“Hermione, we know,” said Ron sternly. “And I thought we were supposed to open the door before she got here?”

Hermione squealed and hurried to break open the graffitied door beside them. Meanwhile, Draco turned to Sarah.

“You ready?” he asked.

She nodded and rolled her shoulders. Closing her eyes, she concentrated until she felt her body begin to change: she shrunk slightly as weight was added to her usually slight frame, dirty-blond hand cascaded down her back as her face became pudgier and slightly wrinkled. Once done, she distractedly tied her straw-like hair into a neat updo and transfigured her clothes into aubergine robes.

“You sure this is the woman she walks with?” Harry checked.

“ _Yes_ , Harry,” Sarah said, her voice still her own. “Draco, do the spell.”

A moment later, she was unrecognisable, voice included, and stood slightly further out the alleyway, waiting. The others had disappeared under the Cloak.

Little more than a minute later, there was a tiny _pop_ and a little Ministry witch with flyaway grey hair Apparated feet from them, blinking a little in the sudden brightness. She caught sight of Sarah and smiled in greeting.

“Good morning, Louise,” she said warmly but then Hermione’s silent Stunning Spell hit her in the chest and she toppled over.

“Nicely done, Hermione,” said Ron, emerging from beneath the Cloak to help Sarah move the witch into the small room behind the graffitied door. Sarah plucked a few hairs from the witch’s head and handed them to Hermione, who added them to a flask of muddy Polyjuice Potion she had taken from her beaded bag. Ron was rummaging through the little witch’s handbag.

“She’s Mafalda Hopkirk,” he said, reading a small card that identified their victim as an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office. “You’d better take this, Hermione, and here are the tokens.”

He passed her several small golden coins, all embossed with the letters M.O.M, which he had taken from the witch’s purse.

A few minutes later had the Magical Maintenance wizard rushing to Disapparate after ingesting a Puking Pastille Sarah had given him and the original Louise Stunned and in the same room as Mafalda. Ron joined Hermione behind a dumpster to take the Polyjuice Potion as they waited for the last two Ministry wizards, who arrived right on time. A Nosebleed Nougat and another Puking Pastille took care of them and within moments, all five of them were standing wearing the faces of someone else.

“Everyone take a token,” Hermione said, “and let’s go, it’s nearly nine.”

They stepped out of the alley in groups, Hermione and Sarah and then the three boys. Fifty yards along the crowded pavement were the spike black railings flanking two slights of steps, one labelled GENTLEMEN and the other LADIES.

“See you in a moment, then,” said Sarah, and she and Hermione tottered off down the steps to LADIES while the boys went in the other direction. They joined a number of women into what appeared to be an ordinary underground public toilet, tiled in grimy black and white.

“Morning, Louise!” called another witch in aubergine robes as she let herself into a cubicle by inserting her golden token into a slot in the door. “Such a pain, isn’t it? Forcing us all to get to work this way! Who are they expecting to turn up, Harry Potter?”

The witch laughed heartily and disappeared. Sarah and Hermione let themselves into adjoining cubicles. To her left and right, Sarah heard the sound of flushing and grimaced.

“All right, then,” she muttered, stepping into the toilet and pulling the chain. The next moment, she was zooming down a short chute and emerging out of a fireplace into the Ministry of Magic.

The great Atrium seemed darker than Sarah remembered it. Previously, a golden fountain had filled the centre of the hall, casting shimmering spots of light over the polished wooden floor and walls. Now a gigantic statue of black stone dominated the scene. It was rather disconcerting, this vast sculpture of a witch and wizard sitting on ornately carved thrones, looking down at the Ministry workers toppling out of fireplaced below them. Engraved in foot-high letters at the base of the statue were the words MAGIC IS MIGHT.

Sarah moved quickly out of the way of the fireplaces and was soon joined by the others. Hermione was staring at the statue in barely disguised horror.

“It’s horrible,” she said. “Have you seen what they’re sitting on?”

Sarah looked more closely and realised that what she had thought were decoratively carved thrones were actually mounds of carved humans: hundreds and hundreds of naked bodies, men, women, and children, all with rather stupid, ugly faces, twisted and pressed together to support the weight of the handsomely robed wizards.

“Muggles,” whispered Hermione. “In their rightful place. Come on, let’s get going.”

Sarah took Hermione’s arm and led her slightly ahead of the others, trusting Draco and Ron to lead Harry in the right direction. They joined the stream of witches and wizards moving toward the golden gates at the end of the hall, looking around as surreptitiously as possible, but there was no sign of the distinctive figure of Dolores Umbridge. They passed through the gates and into a smaller hall, where queues were forming in front of twenty golden grilles housing as many lifts. They had barely joined the nearest one when a voice said, “Cattermole!”

They looked around: Sarah’s stomach turned over. A Death Eater, Yaxley, was striding toward them. The Ministry workers beside them fell silent, their eyes downcast: Sarah could feel fear rippling through them. The man’s scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread.

“I requested somebody from Magical Maintenance to sort out my office, Cattermole. It’s still raining in there.”

Ron looked around as though hoping somebody else would intervene, but nobody spoke.

“Raining…in your office? That’s – that’s not good, is it?”

Ron gave a nervous laugh and Sarah barely bit back a groan. Yaxley’s eyed widened.

“You think it’s funny, Cattermole, do you?”

A pair of witches broke away from the queue for the lift and bustled off.

“No,” said Ron, “no, of course – “

“You realise that I am on my way downstairs to interrogate your wife, Cattermole? In fact, I’m quite surprised you’re not down there holding her hand while she waits. Already given her up as a bad job, have you? Probably wise. Be sure and marry a pureblood next time.”

“I – I – “ stammered Ron.

“Attend to it,” ordered Yaxley. “If my office is not completely dry within an hour, your wife’s Blood Status will be in even graver doubt than it is now.”

The golden grilled before them clattered open and people streamed into it. Yaxley nodded at Harry with an unpleasant smile and then said to Sarah, “Penhurst, you’re on your way to the courtrooms, aren’t you? I’ll walk with you.”

And Sarah had little choice but to follow him into another lift, feeling the eyes of the others burning into her retreating back.

“All these trials are a nuisance,” scowled Yaxley as the lift shuddered downward. “The amount of Mudbloods daring to claim respectable blood is disgusting. It’s a good thing you and Dolores have reinstated compulsory registration – otherwise our society would be destroyed by filth.”

Sarah channelled all her inner pureblood propaganda and drawled in a high voice, “It was only a matter of time, Yaxley, before people realised how much of a problem these _people_ had become.”

“Right you are, Louise, right you are,” snivelled Yaxley.

A sudden cold descended upon them the minute they entered the corridor. Dread filled her as Sarah realised that they had two Dementors flanking the doorway. Sarah felt slightly ill as she followed Yaxley through the corridors and into a courtroom waiting room full of Muggleborns and guards. Yaxley barely spared them a glance before pushing his way into the courtroom proper.

“Ah, Louise, good, you’re here. I’ve just sent for Mafalda and then we’ll be ready to begin.”

The voice that spoke sent chills down Sarah’s spine as her gaze locked upon the horrid figure of Dolores Umbridge. The picket cardigan, black bow and toadlike face were all as Sarah remembered them and it took every ounce of self-control to calmly walk toward the seat Umbridge had indicated. A Patronus cat patrolled in a large circle, encompassing them all in a comforting warmth.

Sarah was able to remain mostly silent as Umbridge chatted on about her latest regulations against half-breeds. When Hermione arrived – thankfully still as Mafalda – Sarah barely managed not to weep in relief. Whether it be fate or some horrible luck they had, both Hermione and Sarah had managed to be seated on either side of Umbridge.

Hermione glanced at Sarah quickly and Sarah palmed her wand, ready to move whenever the opportunity arose. The proceedings began and the sick feeling in Sarah’s stomach grew as Muggleborn after Muggleborn was accused of stealing another witch or wizard’s magic.

Sarah was beginning to worry that their hour was nearly up when the door opened to reveal the Polyjuiced figures of Ron and Draco. Draco was escorting Ron inside, who was greeted by the weeping middle-aged woman currently on trial. Ron went to stand beside the woman.

“You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?” asked Umbridge.

Mrs Cattermole gave a single, shaky nod.

Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?”

Mrs Cattermole nodded again and began to cry. Ron awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders.

“Mother to Maisie, Ellie and Alfred Cattermole?”

Mrs Cattermole sobbed harder than ever.

“They’re frightened, they think I might not come home – “

“Spare us,” spat Yaxley. “The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies.”

Mrs Cattermole’s sobs masked Draco’s footsteps as he made his way carefully toward the steps leading up to the raised platform on which Sarah, Hermione and Umbridge were sitting. Umbridge raised her voice to address the court and a sudden hiss behind Sarah made her jump before she collected herself.

“I’m behind you,” came Harry’s voice.

Sarah nodded minutely and kept her gaze upon the proceedings.

“A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs Cattermole,” Umbridge was saying. “Eight-and-three-quarter inches, cherry, unicorn-hair core. Do you recognise that description?”

Mrs Cattermole nodded, mopping her eyes on her sleeve.

“Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?”

“T-took?” sobbed Mrs Cattermole. “I didn’t t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it when I was eleven years old. It – it – it – _chose_ me.”

She cried harder than ever.

Umbridge laughed a soft girlish laugh that made Sarah want to attack her. She leaned forward over the barrier, the better to observe her victim, and something gold swung forward too, and dangled over the void: the locket.

Hermione had seen it; she let out a little squeak, but Umbridge and Yaxley, still intent upon their prey, were deaf to everything else.

“No,” said Umbridge, “no, I don’t think so, Mrs Cattermole. Wands only choose witches or wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that was sent to you here – Louise, pass them to me.”

Umbridge held out a small hand: she looked so toadlike at that moment that Sarah was quite surprised not to see webs between her stubby fingers. Sarah’s hands worked quickly to locate the correct document in the pile balanced on the chair beside her, finally withdrawing a sheaf of parchment with Mrs Cattermole’s name on it.

“That’s lovely, Dolores,” she said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge’s blouse.

“What?” snapped Umbridge, glancing down. “Oh yes – an old family heirloom,” she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. “The _S_ stands for Selwyn…I am related to the Selwyns…Indeed, there a few pure-blood families to whom I am not related…A pity,” she continued in a louder voice, flicking through Mrs Cattermole’s questionnaire, “that the same cannot be said for you. ‘ _Parents’ professions: greengrocers.’_ ”

Yaxley laughed jeeringly. Below, the fluffy silver cat patrolled up and down, and the dementors stood waiting in the corners.

The next thing Sarah knew, there was a cry of, _“Stupefy!”_ and a flash of red light. Umbridge crumpled and her forehead hit the edge of the balustrade: Mrs Cattermole’s papers slid off her lap onto the floor and, down below, the prowling silver cat vanished. Ice-cold air hit them like an oncoming wind: Yaxley, confused, look around for the source of the trouble and saw Harry’s disembodied hand and wand pointing at him. He tried to draw his own wand, but too late: ” _Stupefy!”_

Yaxley slid to the ground to lie curled on the floor.

“Harry!”

“Hermione, if you think I was going to sit here and let her pretend – “

“Harry, Mrs Cattermole and Ron!”

Harry threw off the Invisibility Cloak as the Dementors came closer. Sarah left it up to her friends and lunged forward, grappling to tug the locket off Umbridge’s prone body. Three shouts of “ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_ met her ears as she finally managed to extricate the locket. She shoved it into her handbag and drew her wand.

“Sarah, come on!” Draco called.

Sarah raced down the stairs to the others, who were all standing with their wands out, trying to keep the Dementors at bay.

Harry was talking urgently to Mrs Cattermole, who looked confused and kept trying to grab at Ron, despite the boy’s best efforts to get away.

“Patronus, Sarah,” said Draco. Sarah hardly needed to be told; her silver lynx shot out and joined Harry’s stag, Draco’s snow leopard and Ron’s Jack Russell terrier. Hermione’s silver otter finally burst from her wand after a few tries.

“C’mon,” said Harry, and he led them to the door.

When the Patronuses glided out of the dungeon there were cries of shock from the people waiting outside. Sarah looked around; the dementors were falling back on both sides of them, melding into the darkness, scattering before the silver creatures.

“You are all excused for today. Go home and get your families into hiding,” Sarah told the waiting Muggleborns, who were dazzled by the light of the Patronuses and still cowering slightly. “What are you waiting for? _Go!”_

They managed to get up the stone steps without being intercepted, but as they approached the lifts Sarah started to have misgivings. If they emerged into the Atrium with five silver animals and twenty or so people, half of them accused Muggleborns, she could not help feeling that they would attract unwanted attention.

“Split up,” Harry told them all. “Go in small groups in the different lifts.”

Everyone listened to him and were soon disappearing into the upper levels of the Ministry. Mrs Cattermole, however, was refusing to leave Ron’s side.

“Look, I’m not actually your husband, okay?” he told her. “He went home sick. Now would you _please_ let me go!”

“Harry, they’re going to know that there are intruders in the Ministry,” Draco said. “We won’t have long.”

“Then let’s go,” Harry said, stepping into the lift that had just appeared.

It took the entire trip to convince Mrs Cattermole that Ron was _not_ here husband Reginald and when the lift arrived at the Atrium, she scurried out to join the queue leaving.

Harry’s domineering figure allowed them all to march straight up to the fireplaces, which were currently being sealed, preventing anyone from exiting.

“What’s up, Albert?” said a balding wizard, looking nervous.

“This lot need to leave before you seal the exits,” said Harry with impressive authority.

The group of wizards in front of them looked at one another.

“We’ve been told to seal all exits and not let anyone – “

“ _Are you contradicting me_?” Harry blustered. “Would you like me to have your family tree examined, like I had Dirk Cresswell’s?”

“Sorry!” gasped the balding wizard, backing away. “I didn’t mean nothing, Albert, but I thought…I thought they were in for questioning and…”

“Their blood is pure,” said Sarah primly, making the wizard’s attention turn to her. His pale eyes widened in shock and sweat began to bead across the top of his forehead. “Purer than many of yours, I daresay. Off you go,” she ordered the Muggleborns, who scurried forward into the fireplace and began to vanish in pairs. The Ministry wizards hung back, some looking confused, others scared and resentful. Then:

“Seal the exit! SEAL IT!”

Yaxley had burst out of another lift and was running toward the group beside the fireplaces, into which all the Muggleborns had now vanished. As the balding wizard lift his wand, Harry raised an enormous fist and punched him, sending him flying through the air.

“He’s been helping Muggleborns escape, Yaxley!” Harry shouted.

The balding wizard’s colleagues set up an uproar, under cover of which Draco grabbed Hermione’s arm and began dragging her toward the lifts. Ron and Sarah followed them with Harry taking the rear, still shouting accusations.

Sarah saw Yaxley’s head turn, saw an inkling of truth dawn in that brutish face.

“Come on!” she shouted at Harry; she seized his hand and they jumped into the fireplace together as Yaxley’s curse sailed over Sarah’s head. They spun for a few seconds before shooting up out of a toilet into a cubicle. Harry flung open the door; Ron, Hermione and Draco were standing beside the sinks, the Polyjuice finally wearing off.

There was a noise in the cubicle behind them; Sarah looked around; Yaxley had just appeared.

“LET’S GO!” Harry yelled. He seized Hermione by the hand and Draco by the arm as Sarah and Ron grabbed onto his shoulders, and turned on the spot.

Darkness engulfed them, along with the sensation of compressing bands, but something was wrong…

She wondered whether she was going to suffocate; she could not breathe or see and the only solid things in the world were Harry’s shoulder and Ron’s fingers around her own…

And then she saw the door of number twelve Grimmauld Place, with its serpent door knocker, but before she could draw breath, there was a scream and a flash of purple light; Hermione’s hand was suddenly vicelike upon hers and everything went dark again.


	7. Chapter Seven

Sarah opened her eyes and was dazzled by gold and green; she had no idea what had happened, she only knew that she was lying on what seemed to be leaves and twigs. Struggling to draw breath into lungs that felt flattened, she blinked and realised that the gaudy glare was sunlight streaming through a canopy of leaves far above him. Then an object twitched close to her face. She pushed herself onto her hands and knees, ready to face some small, fierce creature, but saw that the object was Harry’s foot. Looking around, Sarah saw that they all were lying on a forest floor, apparently alone.

Sarah’s first thought was the forest behind Malfoy Manor but then realised it was impossible. Ron gave a low groan from somewhere nearby and Sarah crawled toward him, noting belatedly that her features had returned to her own – she must have passed out briefly.

The moment her eyes fell upon Ron, all other concerns fled Sarah’s mind, for blood drenched the whole of Ron’s left side and his face stood out, greyish-white, against the leaf strewn earth. The Polyjuice Potion had fully worn off now and his freckled face was draining of what little colour it had left.

“Ron!” Sarah cried. “Ron, can you hear me?”

The boy didn’t reply. Distantly, she registered the sounds of the others stirring but she paid them no mind, instead ripping off Ron’s robes to get better access to his arm.

“What’s happened to him?” said Harry’s voice at her side.

“Splinched,” said Sarah, her fingers already grappling for her wand to clear the blood.

A great chunk of flesh was missing, scooped cleanly away as though by a knife.

“Harry, quickly, in my bag, there’s a small bottle labelled ‘Essence of Dittany’ – “

“Bag – right – “

Sarah muttered spells under her breath and Ron’s breathing eased slightly. Regrowing the piece of flesh with all the correct muscle and nerve attachments would take a few days; the most important thing at the moment was ensuring he didn’t bleed out.

“ _Quickly!”_ Sarah hissed.

Harry said, “ _Accio Dittany!”_ and then thrust the small bottle into Sarah’s blood-soaked hands.

She unstoppered it and carefully put a few drops in the wound, watching as it began to close itself. She sighed in relief and turned back to Harry.

“I need a Blood-Replenishing Potion, too,” she said. Another spell gave her the correct vial. “Support his head, will you?”

Together, they managed to trickle the potion down Ron’s throat and colour began to return to his face.

“I need to wrap this,” Sarah told Harry. “Check the others to make sure they’re okay.”

As Sarah began the familiar movements of bandaging Ron’s arms to his chest, she looked around at her surroundings. Something about it was familiar but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The main thing she was wondering was why they were here in the first place and not back at Grimmauld Place.

“Is he going to be okay?”

Hermione had crept up beside them, unshed tears in her eyes. Sarah nodded and took off her robes, bundling them into a makeshift pillow for Ron.

“He’s fainted but he’ll be okay in a few days,” she explained. “I need to help coax the muscles and nerves to regrow but he’ll be fine.”

Hermione let out a shuddering breath and cleaned Sarah’s hands for her.

“Hermione, what happened?” Draco asked as he and Harry came to sit beside them. “Why are we here and not at Grimmauld Place?”

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to go back there,” Hermione said miserably.

“What do you – ?”

“As we Disapparated, Yaxley caught hold of me and I couldn’t get rid of him, he was too strong, and he was still holding on when we arrived at Grimmauld Place, and then – well, I think he must have seen the door and thought we were stopping there, so he slackened his grip and I managed to shake him off and I brought us here instead!”

“But then, where’s he?” Harry said. “Hang on…You don’t mean he’s at Grimmauld Place? He can’t get in there?”

A few tears began to drip from Hermione’s eyes.

“Harry, I think he can. I – I forced him to let go with a Revulsion Jinx, but I’d already taken him inside the Fidelius Charm’s protection. Since Dumbledore died, we’re Secret-Keepers, so I’ve given him the secret, haven’t I?”

Hermione was right, if Yaxley could get inside the house, there was no way that they could return. Sarah felt slightly hollow at the thought that her home might be overrun with Death Eaters. With a twinge of regret, Sarah thought of Kreacher, who was waiting for them to come home.

“He won’t be able to get inside for long,” Draco said unexpectedly. When the others turned to him in confusion, he confessed, “Before we left I told Kreacher that if anything happened and we didn’t come back, to close the house off entirely so that _nobody_ could get in. It shouldn’t matter that Yaxley saw the door – he and the others physically won’t be able to enter.”

“And neither can we,” Sarah stated.

Draco nodded tiredly. “It was the safest thing I could think of.”

“Oh, guys, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Hermione cried.

“Don’t be stupid, it wasn’t your fault! It anything, it was mine…” Harry said. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out Mad-Eye’s eye. They all recoiled, looking horrified.

“Umbridge had stuck it to her office door, to spy on people. I couldn’t leave it there…but that’s how they knew there were intruders.”

“That and most likely the unconscious Ministry officials we left in the courtrooms,” Sarah muttered.

Before anyone could say anything else, Ron groaned and opened his eyes. His face was still grey and his face glistened with sweat.

“How do you feel?” Sarah asked.

“Lousy,” croaked Ron, wincing as he felt his injured arm. “Where are we?”

“In the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup,” said Hermione. “I wanted somewhere enclosed, undercover and this was – “

“ – the first place you thought of,” Harry finished for her, glancing around the apparently deserted glade.

“D’you reckon we should move on?” Ron asked Harry, looking uncertain.

“I dunno,” said Harry. “What if they find us again?”

“Well, Ron can’t be moving anytime soon,” Sarah told them. “It’s too dangerous at the moment.”

“Okay, we’ll stay here for now,” Harry nodded.

Looking relieved, Hermione sprang to her feet.

“Where are you going?” asked Ron.

“If we’re staying, we should put some protective enchantments around the place,” she replied, and raising her wand, she began to walk in a wide circle around the four of them, murmuring incantations as she went. Sarah saw little disturbances in the surrounding air: it was as if Hermione had cast a heat haze upon their clearing. Draco got up to help.

“ _Salvio Hexia…Protego Totalum…Repello Muggletum…Muffliato_ …You could get out the tent, Harry…” Hermione said.

“Tent?”

“In the bag!”

“In the…of course,” said Harry.

Sarah helped Ron upright as Harry Summoned the tent the Weasley’s had used during the World Cup.

“I thought this belonged to that bloke Perkins at the Ministry?” Harry asked, starting to disentangle the tent pegs.

“Apparently he didn’t want it back,” explained Sarah, “so Ron’s dad said we could borrow it. _Erecto!”_ she added, pointing her wand at the misshapen canvas, which in one fluid motion, rose into the air and settled, fully constructed onto the ground before Harry, out of whose startled hands a tent peg soared, to land with a final thud at the end of a rope.

“ _Cave Inimicum_ ,” Hermione and Draco finished with a skyward flourish. “That’s as much as we can do,” Hermione continued. “At the very least, we should know they’re coming, I can’t guarantee it will keep out Vol – “

“Don’t say the name!” Ron cut across her, his voice harsh.

Sarah looked at Draco, startled.

“I’m sorry,” Ron said, moaning a little as he raised himself further to look at them, “but it feels like a – a jinx or something. Can’t we call him You-Know-Who – please?”

“Dumbledore said fear of a name – “ began Harry.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, mate, calling You-Know-Who by his name didn’t do Dumbledore much good in the end,” Ron snapped back. “Just – just show You-Know-Who some respect, will you?”

“ _Respect?_ ” Sarah repeated, but Hermione shot her a warning look; apparently she was not to argue with Ron while the latter was in such a weakened condition.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Sarah half-carried, half-dragged Ron through the entrance of the tent. The interior was exactly as Sarah remembered it: a small flat, complete with a bathroom and a tiny kitchen. She shoved aside an old armchair and lowered Ron carefully onto the lower berth of a bunk bed. Even this very short journey had turned Ron whiter still, and once they had settled him on the mattress, he closed his eyes and did not speak for a while.

“I’ll make some tea,” said Hermione breathlessly, pulling kettle and mugs from the depts of her bag and heading toward the kitchen.

Sarah found the hot drink as welcome as the firewhiskey had been on the night that Mad-Eye had died; it seemed to burn away a little of the fear fluttering in his chest. After a minute or two, Draco broke the silence.

“What do you think happened to the Muggleborns?”

“With any luck, they’ll have got away,” said Sarah, clutching her hot mug for comfort and burrowing deeper into Harry’s side. “As long as they got to their families okay, they should be fleeing the country now.”

“Blimey, I hope they escaped,” said Ron, leaning back on his pillows. The tea seemed to be going him good; a little of his colour had returned. Sarah made a mental note to give him another potion in a few hours. “If any of them end up in Azkaban because of us…”

Sarah looked over at Hermione and the question she had been about to ask died in her throat. Hermione was watching Ron fret over the fate of the Muggleborns with such tenderness in her expression that Sarah felt almost as if they had surprised her in the act of kissing him.

“So, have you got it?” Harry asked Sarah, breaking the awkward silence that had descended upon them.

“Oh, yes,” she said, extricating herself from beside him and pulling her handbag toward her. She rummaged around until she felt the tell-tale gold chain and withdrew it with a frown.

It was as large as a chicken’s egg. An ornate letter _S_ , inlaid with many small green stones, glinted dully in the diffused light shining through the tent’s canvas roof.

“There isn’t any chance someone’s destroyed it since Kreacher had it?” asked Ron hopefully. “I mean, are we sure it’s still a Horcrux?”

“I think so,” said Draco, taking it from Sarah and looking at it closely. “There’d be some sign of damage if it had been magically destroyed.”

Harry took it next, turning it over in his fingers.

“I reckon Kreacher’s right,” he said. “We’re going to have to work out how to open this thing before we can destroy it.” He passed it back to Sarah.

Sudden awareness of what she was holding, of what lived behind the little golden doors, hit Sarah as Harry spoke. Even after all their efforts to find it, she felt a violent urge to fling the locket from her. Mastering herself, she shuddered slightly and thrust it back into Harry’s hands.

“It feels foul,” she stated. It had felt as though something was beating alongside her own heartbeat.

“What are we going to do with it?” Hermione asked.

“Keep it safe until we work out how to destroy it,” Harry replied. And then he hung the chain around his own neck, dropping the locket out of sight beneath his robes.

“What are you doing?” Draco exclaimed, reaching toward his boyfriend. “It’s dangerous.”

“It’s the best way to keep an eye on it,” Harry countered, grabbing Draco’s hands before they could touch the locket. “It would get lost in Sarah and Hermione’s bags.”

Reluctantly, Draco relented and sat back in his armchair, arms crossed and scowling.

“I think we should take it in turns to keep watch outside the tent,” Harry went on, standing up and stretching. “And we’ll need to think about some food as well. You stay there,” he added sharply, as Ron attempted to sit up and turned a nasty shade of green.

“I’ve been packing food for a while,” Sarah revealed. “But I honestly don’t know how long it will last us.”

With the Sneakoscope Hermione had given Harry for his birthday set carefully upon the table in the tent, Harry, Hermione, Draco and Sarah spent the rest of the day sharing the role of lookout. However, the Sneakoscope remained silent and still upon its point all day, and whether because of the protective enchantments and Muggle-repelling charms Hermione had spread around them, or because people rarely ventured this way, their patch of wood remained deserted, apart from occasional birds and squirrels. Evening brought no change; Harry and Draco were out on lookout while Sarah made some food, Hermione keeping Ron company.

After another Blood-Replenishing Potion, Ron’s face had nearly regained all its colour, but Sarah was still hesitant to begin working on his arm.

“I’ll start tomorrow,” she promised. “I need to do some research to make sure I don’t make it worse.”

She spent the rest of the night scouring through her various medical texts, the others refusing to let her take watch. By the time Draco carried her onto a bunk bed, she had written multiple pages of notes about healing processes and spells.

She was awoken not long after by Hermione’s shrill shout of Harry’s name. Sarah fell off her bed and groggily grabbed her wand, getting to her feet only to realise that they weren’t in any trouble, Harry had just had another vision.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen!” Harry was saying to a furious Hermione. “It was a dream! Can _you_ control what you dream about, Hermione?”

“If you had just kept up your Occlumency – “

But Harry wasn’t interested in being told off; he turned to Sarah and said quickly, “He’s found Gregorovitch and I think he’s killed him, but before he killed him he read Gregorovitch’s mind and I saw – “

“I think I’d better take over the watch if you’re so tired you’re falling asleep,” said Hermione coldly.

“I can finish the watch!”

“No, you’re obviously exhausted. Go and lie down.”

Harry trooped miserably over to the couch, where Draco had passed out on before Hermione’s shout. Sarah joined them and handed Harry a potion to soothe his headache.

“What did you see?” Draco asked him after he had downed the potion.

“He wanted something from Gregorovitch,” Harry said, closing his eyes tight. “He asked him to hand it over, but Gregorovitch said it had been stolen from him…and then…then…”

He stuttered into silence before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“He read Gregorovitch’s mind and I saw this young bloke perched on a windowsill, and he fired a curse at Gregorovitch and jumped out of sight. He stole it, he stole whatever You-Know-Who’s after. And I…I think I’ve seen him somewhere…”

After a while, Ron whispered, “ Couldn’t you see what the thief was holding?”

“No…it must’ve been something small.”

Sarah and Draco watched Harry worriedly as he rubbed his hands over his scar, grimacing slightly. 

“Harry?”

The wooden slats of Ron’s bunk creaked as he repositioned himself in bed.

“Harry, you don’t reckon You-Know-Who’s after something else to turn into a Horcrux?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry slowly. “Maybe. But wouldn’t it be dangerous for him to make another one? Hasn’t he already pushed his soul to the limit already?”

“Yeah, but maybe he doesn’t know that.”

“Yeah…maybe,” said Harry.

Silence fell again, this time broken by Sarah.

“You should all get some sleep,” she told the boys. “I’ll check on Hermione.”

Ron rolled over slightly on his bunk as Draco and Harry took the bed Sarah had previously been sleeping on and within minutes, the soft sounds of their breathing filled the tent.

Sarah cautiously pushed aside the tent flaps and walked out to where Hermione was sitting wrapped in a blanket.

“I brought cocoa,” Sarah offered quietly.

Hermione accepted the cup and Sarah felt it was safe to sit beside her.

“Harry has been trying with his Occlumency,” she said into the darkness. “It’s been getting harder for him to control the visions recently. But he _has_ been trying – trust me, Draco has more than pissed about it.”

“I didn’t mean to be so rude to him,” Hermione muttered. “I’m just scared.”

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” Sarah commented lightly. “We’re in an impossible situation with no clear way out.”

“You’re such an optimistic person,” said Hermione sarcastically.

Sarah chuckled quietly and shrugged.

“Someone has to be the realist here,” she said. “Especially amongst you hopeful Gryffindors. I fear that Draco may have been corrupted by Harry – I am your last hope.”

Hermione giggled and knocked her shoulder against Sarah’s.

“Why don’t you go get some sleep?” Sarah suggested. “I haven’t been on watch for hours.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m okay,” she assured. “But you’re welcome to join me.”

“Someone has to protect the boys from the scary brunette,” laughed Sarah. She rested her head against Hermione’s shoulder and the two of them stared out into the night, neither realising that both their minds were looking toward the unknown future.

***

Early next morning, Sarah was shaken awake by Draco, who offered her a cup of hot tea. He joined her on her bed and leant against her side.

“Where are the others?” Sarah asked quietly, for Ron was still sleeping across from them.

“They went for a walk,” Draco explained. “I think we should move today.”

“Ron may not be up to it,” said Sarah. “I’ll do what I can though.”

Draco nodded in thanks and stared toward the tent entrance.

“I imagined what it would be like,” he said in a low voice, “hunting for the Horcruxes. But I don’t think I really understood what it would be like to find one.” He turned to Sarah, his grey eyes dark and clouded. “I can still feel it, Sarah, even though Harry’s wearing it. It’s – it’s like a blanket smothering my chest. I didn’t realise it was that bad until I woke up this morning and had to leave the tent just to breathe.”

“Have you told Harry?” Sarah asked.

Draco shook his head. “No, of course not. He would just keep his distance so as not to hurt me.”

“You should tell him,” she suggested. “Hopefully, we figure out how to destroy it soon. It’s too evil to stay here.”

Before Draco could reply, the tent flaps opened and Harry and Hermione walked in, smiling softly at each other. Draco squeezed Sarah’s arm once and then stood up from the bed, making his way across the room to draw Harry into a hug.

After a quick breakfast and another potion for Ron, they packed up the tent and reversed the protective enchantments. Then they Disapparated to the outskirts of a small market town.

Once they had pitched the tent in the shelter of a small corpse of trees and surrounded it with freshly cast defensive enchantments, Harry ventured out under the Invisibility Cloak to find more food. This, however, did not go as planned. He had barely disappeared before he was back again, clammy and trembling slightly.

“But you can make a brilliant Patronus!” protested Ron, when Harry arrived back at the tent empty-handed, out of breath and mouthing the single word, _dementors_.

“I couldn’t…make one,” he panted, clutching the stitch in his side. “Wouldn’t…come.”

Sarah frowned and turned to Draco, who had an identical expression on his face.

“So we still don’t have any food,” Ron grumbled.

“We have food!” argued Sarah.

Ron kicked his chair leg.

“What?” he snarled at them. “It’s not like it’s going to last us more than a few days!”

“You go and fight your way through the dementors, then,” said Harry in a hurt voice.

“I would, but my arm’s in a sling, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

“That’s convenient.”

“And what’s that supposed to - ?”

“Harry, give me the locket,” Draco said unexpectedly. “You’re still wearing it. Take it off.”

He held out his hand and Harry lifted the golden chain over his head. The moment it parted with Harry’s skin, his shoulders relaxed and he took in a deep breath.

“Better?” asked Draco.

“Yeah, loads better!”

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly, “you don’t think you’ve been possessed, do you?”

“What? No!” he said defensively. “I remember everything we’ve done while I’ve been wearing it. I wouldn’t know what I’d done if I’d been possessed, would I?”

“It’s a piece of You-Know-Who’s soul,” Sarah stated dryly. “I’m not surprised it’s making us more angry than usual.”

“Have you felt anything, Sarah?” Hermione asked.

She shrugged and said, “I’ve been feeling a bit off but it might just be because I’m tired.”

“I’ve felt it,” Draco said. “We should take turns wearing it. That way it’s not just one person being affected all the time. We can help level each other out.”

“Great,” said Ron irritably, “and now we’ve sorted that out, can we please get some food?”

“I’ll go find some,” offered Sarah in a calm voice, before Disapparating.

She was back nearly half an hour later, laden down with fresh groceries and non-perishables.

“This should last us a while,” she said, as she and Draco put Stasis charms on the food. “But we should still be careful.”

She turned to Ron, who had eagerly grabbed a roll she had bought.

“And you need to calm down,” she said sternly. “I know you’re injured but I’m doing everything I can do heal you without making it worse. Stop biting off our heads.”

Ron looked mollified and grunted out an apology.

“Excellent,” said Sarah. “Now lie down, I need to look at that arm.”

It wasn’t surprising that their spirits were affected by whether they had a full stomach or not. Sarah knew that she was being harsh in rationing out the food they had but also realised it was necessary. Draco understood that and didn’t raise any issues. Harry was dealing with it extremely well, but Sarah feared it was due from him suffering periods of near starvation at the Dursley’s; Hermione bore up reasonably well on those nights were Sarah only allowed them to make small meals until they found more food, her temper perhaps a little shorter than usual and her silences rather dour. Ron, however, had always been used to three delicious meals a day, courtesy of his mother or of the Hogwarts house-elves, and hunger made him both unreasonable and irascible. Whenever lack of food coincided with Ron’s turn to wear the Horcrux, he became downright unpleasant.

“So where next?” was his constant refrain. He did not seem to have any ideas himself, but expected the others to come up with plans while he sat and brooded over the lessening food supplied. Accordingly, Sarah, Draco, Harry and Hermione spent fruitless hours trying to decide where they might find the other Horcruxes, and how to destroy the one they had already got, their conversations becoming increasingly repetitive as they had no new information.

As Dumbledore had told Harry that he believed Voldemort had hidden the Horcruxes in places important to him, they kept reciting, in a sort of dreary litany, those locations they knew that Voldemort had lived or visited. The orphanage where he had been born and raised Hogwarts, where he had been educated; Borgin and Burkes, where he had worked after completing school; then Albania, where he had spent his years of exile: these formed the basis of their speculations.

“Yeah, let’s go to Albania. Shouldn’t take more than an afternoon to search an entire country,” said Ron sarcastically.

“If you don’t want to blow your arm off, stop moving,” snapped Sarah as she painstakingly regrew muscle.

“There can’t be anything there. He’d already made five of his Horcruxes before he went into exile, and Dumbledore was certain his snake is the sixth,” said Draco. “We know the snake’s not in Albania, it’s usually with Vol – “

“ _Didn’t I ask you to stop saying that?”_ Ron hissed.

“Fine! The snake is usually with _You-Know-Who_ – happy?”

“Not particularly.”

“I can’t see him hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes,” said Harry quickly over Draco’s angry snarl. “Borgin and Burke were experts at Dark objects, they would’ve recognised a Horcrux straightaway.”

Ron yawned pointedly. Repressing a strong urge to throw something at him, Sarah put down her wand and said, “I still think he might have hidden something at Hogwarts.”

Hermione sighed.

“But Dumbledore would have found it, Sarah!”

Sarah pushed a hand through her hair.

“I know that, Hermione, but it’s also possible that he wouldn’t,” she said. “Hogwarts has plenty of secrets and hiding places. We shouldn’t dismiss it entirely.”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“Dumbledore said in front of me that he never assumed he knew all of Hogwarts’ secrets. I’m telling you, if there was one place Vol – “

“Oi!”

“YOU-KNOW-WHO, then!” Harry shouted, goaded past endurance. “If there was one place that was really important to You-Know-Who, it was Hogwarts!”

“Oh, come on,” scoffed Ron. “His _school?_ ”

“Yeah, his school! It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special; it meant everything to him, and even after he left – “

“This is You-Know-Who we’re talking about, right? Not you?” inquired Ron. He was tugging at the chain of the Horcrux around his neck; Harry looked as if he wished to throttle Ron with it.

“Enough!” snapped Sarah. “Ronald, _stop_ being so difficult! We’re all in the same spot – we barely know what we’re doing! We need to work together.”

Ron rolled his eyes and Draco had to pull Sarah out of the tent to stop her from doing something she might regret later.

Without any real leads, they travelled into London and, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak and Disillusionment Charms, searched for the orphanage in which Voldemort had been raised. Sarah disguised herself and went into a library and discovered from their records that the place had been demolished many years before. They visited the site and found a tower block of offices.

“We could try digging into the foundations?” Hermione suggested half-heartedly and Sarah respected her greatly for it.

“He wouldn’t have hidden a Horcrux here,” Harry said.

Even without any new ideas, they continued to move through the countryside, pitching the tent in a different place each night for security. Every morning they made sure that they had removed all clues to their presence, then set off to find another lonely and secluded spot, travelling by Apparation to more woods, to the shadowy crevices of cliffs, to purple moors, gorse-covered mountainsides, and once a sheltered and pebbly cove. Every twelve hours or so they passed the Horcrux between them as though they were playing some perverse, slow-motion game of pass-the-parcel, where they dreaded the music stopping because the reward was twelve hours of increased fear and anxiety.

Harry’s scar kept prickling. He said that it usually happened when he was wearing the Horcrux, but sometimes he could not stop himself from reacting to the pain.

“What? What did you see?” demanded Ron, whenever he noticed Harry wince.

“A face,” muttered Harry, every time. “The same face. The thief who stole from Gregorovitch.”

And Ron would turn away, making no effort to hide his disappointment. Sarah knew that Ron was hoping to hear news of his family or of the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him that if Harry saw something regarding his family, it would most likely be bad news.

Most nights found Sarah and Draco seated with Harry seated in the tiny living room, one of them rubbing soothing ointment on Harry’s temples after his turn with the Horcrux. The Horcrux, along with their lookout shifts, were starting to interfere with their sleep patterns, with none of them being able to truly sleep any longer than four hours.

As the days stretched into weeks, Harry mentioned to Sarah that he thought Hermione and Ron were having conversations without, and about, him. Several times they stopped talking abruptly when Harry entered the tent, and twice he had accidentally come upon them, huddled a little distance away, heads together and talking fast; both times they fell silent when they realised he was approaching them and hastened to appear busy collecting wood or water. Sarah had told him to try not to worry about it and assured him that she would keep an eye out.

After a particularly bad turn with the Horcrux, Sarah took watch and sat in the cold, multiple blankets and warming charms piled upon her. She tried not to cry but the hopelessness she felt while wearing the locket seemed to have stayed with her even after she took it off. Tears fell silently into her scarf and she wasn’t altogether surprised to feel a warm body join her. She was surprised when she turned to see it was Hermione.

“Harry and Draco fell asleep,” she whispered in explanation. “And I thought I ought to check on you. You didn’t look your best when you came out here.”

Sarah huffed a shaky laugh.

“I should be flattered you still think I can look anything other than sleep-deprived and starved at the moment,” she muttered.

Hermione burrowed under half of Sarah’s blankets.

“You’re doing the best you can with the food,” Hermione said. “We all know that.”

“I feel like I’m not doing enough,” confessed Sarah.

“You’re doing a lot, Sarah. You’re the only one who can safely go into populated areas without raising suspicion. We’d have been much worse off without you.”

“I wish Ronald would see it that way,” grumbled Sarah. “He’s not the only one not used to this.”

Hermione sighed deeply and leant against Sarah’s side. “The Horcrux is affecting him more than us, for some reason. We just have to persevere.”

“I’m going to allow myself to be treated like a failing servant, Hermione,” Sarah said in a strong voice. “Draco is affected even more by that horrid thing than Ron and he isn’t complaining about it. For Merlin’s sake, he also has to deal with it whenever his boyfriend is wearing it.”

“You’re right,” conceded Hermione. “But I think that Draco is just more resilient when it comes to that.”

Autumn rolled over the countryside as they moved through it: they were now pitching the tent on mulches of fallen leaves. Natural mists joined those cast by the dementors; wind and rain added to their troubles. Soon, it became obvious that they were running out of Muggle money for food, which meant that Sarah had resorted to finding quiet farms or stores and stealing supplies. The one thing that they really wanted, though, was an update on what was going on in the war against Voldemort.

“My mother,” said Ron one night, as they sat in the tent on a riverbank in Wales, “can make good food appear out of thin air.”

He prodded moodily at the lumps of charred grey fish on his face. Sarah glanced automatically at Ron’s neck and saw, as she expected, the golden chain of the Horcrux glinting there. Sarah clenched her jaw to refrain from swearing at him. It was one of those days where Sarah had been unsuccessful in finding somewhere to get supplies; Harry and Draco had even ventured out with her but to no luck.

“Your mother can’t produce food out of thin air,” said Hermione. “No one can. Food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfigur – “

“Oh, speak English, can’t you?” said Ron, prising a fishbone out from between his teeth.

“It’s impossible to make good food out of nothing! You can Summon it if you know where it is, you can transform it, you can increase the quantity if you’ve already got some – “

“Well, don’t bother increasing this, it’s disgusting,” said Ron.

“Harry and Draco caught the fish and I did my best with it!” snapped Sarah. “I notice I’m always the one who ends up sorting out the food, because I’m a _girl_ , I suppose!”

“No, it’s because you’re supposed to be one of the best at magic!” shot back Ron.

Sarah jumped up and bits of roast pike slid off her tin plate onto the floor.

“ _You_ can do the cooking tomorrow, Ronald, _you_ can find the ingredients and try and cook them into something safe to eat, and I’ll sit here and pull faces and moan and you can see how you – “

“Shut up!” said Harry, leaping to his feet and holding up both hands. “Shut up, _now_!”

Sarah was outraged.

“How can you side with him, he hardly ever does _anything_ – “

“Sarah, be quiet, I can hear someone!”

Sarah snapped her jaw shut, glowering at Ron.

“You cast the Muffliato charm over us, right?” Harry whispered to Draco and Hermione.

“We did everything,” Draco whispered back. “They shouldn’t be able to hear or see us, whoever they are.”

Heavy scuffing and scraping noises, plus the sound of dislodged stones and twigs, told them that several people were clambering down the steep, wooded slope that descended to the narrow bank where they had pitched the tent. They drew their wands, waiting. The enchantments they had cast around themselves ought to be sufficient, in the near total darkness, to shield them from the notice of Muggles and normal witches and wizards. If these were Death Eaters, then perhaps their defences were about to be tested by Dark Magic for the first time.

The voices became louder but no more intelligible as the group of men reached the bank. Sarah estimated that their owners were fewer than twenty feet away, but the cascading river made it impossible to tell for sure. Hemione snatched up the beaded bag and started to rummage; after a moment she drew out five Extendable Ears and threw one to each of them, all hastily inserting the ends of the flesh-coloured strings into their ears and fed the other ends out of the tent entrance.

Within seconds Sarah heard a weary male voice.

“There ought to be a few salmon in here, or d’you reckon it’s too early in the season? _Accio Salmon_!”

There were several distinct splashes and then the slapping sounds of fish against flesh. Somebody grunted appreciatively. Sarah pressed the Extendable Ear deeper into her own. Over the murmur of the river she could make our more voices, but they were not speaking English or any human language she had ever heard. It was a rough and unmelodious tongue, a string of rattling, guttural noises, and there seemed to be two speakers, one with a slightly lower, slower voice than the other.

 _Goblins_ , mouthed Draco to them.

A fire danced to life on the other side of the canvas; large shadows passed between tent and flames. The delicious smell of baking salmon wafted tantalisingly in their direction. Then came the clinking of cutlery on plates, and the first man spoke again.

“Here, Griphook, Gornuk.”

“Thank you,” said the goblins together in English.

“So, you three have been on the run how long?” asked a new, mellow, and pleasant voice.

“Six weeks…seven…I forget,” said the tired man. “Met up with Griphook in the first couple of days and joined forces with Gornuk not long after. Nice to have a bit of company.” There was a pause, while knives scraped plates and tin mugs were picked up and replaced on the ground. “What made you leave, Ted?” continued the man.

“Knew they were coming for me,” replied mellow-voiced Ted and Harry suddenly gasped.

“Tonk’s dad,” he whispered quietly to them, making the other’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Heard Death Eaters were in the area last week and decided I’d better run for it,” continued Ted. “Refused to register as a Muggleborn on principle, see, so I knew it was a matter of time, knew I’d have to leave in the end. My wife should be okay, she’s pure-blood. And then I met Dean here, what, a few days ago, son?”

“Yeah,” said another voice, and Sarah, Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione stared at each other, silent but beside themselves with excitement, sure they recognised the voice of Dean Thomas.

“Muggleborn, eh?” asked the first man.

“Not sure,” said Dean. “My dad left my mum when I was a kid. I’ve got no proof he was a wizard, though.”

There was silence for a while, except for the sounds of munching; then Ted spoke again.

“I’ve got to say, Dirk, I’m surprised to run into you. Pleased, but surprised. Word was you’d been caught.”

“I was,” said Dirk. “I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it, Stunned Dawlish, and nicked his broom. It was easier than you’d think; I don’t reckon he’s quite right at the moment. Might be Confunded. If so, I’d like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it, probably saved my life.”

There was another pause in which the fire crackled and the river rushed on. Then Ted said, “And where do you two fit in? I, er, had the impression that goblins were for You-Know-Who, on the whole.”

“You had a false impression,” said the higher-voiced of the goblins. “We take no sides. This is a wizards’ war.”

“How come you’re in hiding, then?”

“I deemed it prudent,” said the deeper-voiced goblin. “Having refused what I considered an impertinent request, I could see that my personal safety was in jeopardy.”

“What did they ask you to do?” asked Ted.

“Duties ill-befitting the dignity of my race,” replied the goblin, his voice rougher and less him as he said it. “I am not a house-elf.”

“What about you, Griphook?”

“Similar reasons,” said the higher-voiced goblin. “Gringotts is no longer under the sole control of my race. I recognise no Wizarding master.”

He added something under his breath in Gobbledegook, and Gornuk laughed.

“What’s the joke?” asked Dean.

“He said,” replied Dirk, “that there are things wizards don’t recognise, either.”

There was a short pause.

“I don’t get it,” said Dean.

“I had my small revenge before I left,” said Griphook in English.

“Good man – goblin, I should say,” amended Ted hastily. “Didn’t manage to lock a Death Eater up in one of those old high-security vaults, I suppose?”

“If I had, the sword would not have helped him break out,” replied Griphook. Gornuk laughed again and even Dirk gave a dry, chuckle.

“Dean and I are still missing something here,” said Ted.

“So is Severus Snape, though he does not know it,” said Griphook, and the two goblins roared with malicious laughter. Inside the tent, Harry’s breathing was shallow with excitement: he and Sarah stared at each other, listening as hard as they could.

“Didn’t you hear about that, Ted?” asked Dirk. “About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor’s sword out of Snape’s office at Hogwarts?”

“Never heard a word,” said Ted. “Not in the _Prophet_ , was it?”

“Hardly,” chortled Dirk. “Griphook here told me, he heard about it from Bill Weasley who works for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill’s younger sister.”

Sarah glanced at Ron to see him holding his Extendable Ear like a lifeline.

“She and a couple of friends got into Snape’s office and smashed open the glass case where he was apparently keeping the sword. Snape caught them as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase.”

“Ah, God bless ‘em,” said Ted. “What did they think, that they’d be able to use the sword on You-Know-Who? Or on Snape himself?”

“Well, whatever they thought they were going to do with it, Snape decided the sword wasn’t safe where it was,” said Dirk. “Couple of days later, once he’d got the say-so from You-Know-Who, I imagine, he sent it down to London to be kept in Gringotts instead.”

The goblins started to laugh again.

“I’m still not seeing the joke,” said Ted.

“It’s a fake,” rasped Griphook.

“The sword of Gryffindor!”

“Oh yes. It is a copy – an excellent copy, it is true – but it was Wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and had certain properties only goblin-made armour possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Gryffindor is, it is not in a vault at Gringotts bank.”

“I see,” said Ted. “And I take it you didn’t bother telling the Death Eaters this?”

“I saw no reason to trouble them with the information,” said Griphook smugly, and now Ted and Dean joined in with Gornuk and Dirk’s laughter.

Inside the tent, Sarah closed her eyes, thinking rapidly. The sword must have been important enough for someone to make a copy, but who – Dumbledore? Was that why he left it to Harry in his will? But what was so important about it that it needed to be hidden? Dean’s next question broke her out of her thoughts.

“What happened to Ginny and the others? The ones who tried to steal it?”

“Oh, they were punished and cruelly,” said Griphook indifferently.

“They’re okay, though?” asked Ted quickly. “I mean, the Weasley’s don’t need any more of their kids injured, do they?” Sarah flashed back to George’s pale face as she patched up the gaping wound that was once his ear.

“They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware,” said Griphook.

“Lucky for them,” said Ted. “With Snape’s track record I suppose we should just be glad they’re still alive.”

“You believe that story, then, do you, Ted?” asked Dirk. “You believe Snape killed Dumbledore?”

“’Course I do,” said Ted. “You’re not going to sit there and tell me you think Potter had anything to do with it?”

“Hard to know what to believe these days,” muttered Dirk.

“I know Harry Potter,” said Dean. “And I reckon he’s that real thing – the Chosen One, or whatever you want to call it.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot would like to believe he’s that, son,” said Dirk, “me included. But where is he? Run for it, by the looks of things. You’d think, if he knew anything we don’t, or had anything special going for him, he’d be out there no fighting, rallying resistance, instead of hiding. And you know, the _Prophet_ made a pretty good case against him – “

“The _Prophet?_ ” scoffed Ted. “You deserve to be lied to if you’re still reading that muck, Dirk. You want the facts, try the _Quibbler_.”

There was a sudden explosion or choking and retching, plus a good deal of thumping; by the sound of it, Dirk had swallowed a fishbone. At last he spluttered, “The _Quibbler_? That lunatic rag of Xeno Lovegood’s?”

“It’s not so lunatic these days,” said Ted. “You want to give it a look. Xeno is printing all the stuff the _Prophet’s_ ignoring, not a single mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the last issue. How long they’ll let him get away with it, mind, I don’t know. But Xeno says, front page of every issue, that any wizard who’s against You-Know-Who ought to make helping Harry Potter their number one priority.”

“Hard to help a boy who’s vanished off the face of the earth,” said Dirk.

“Listen, the fact that they haven’t caught him yet’s one hell of an achievement,” said Ted. “I’d take tips from him gladly; it’s what we’re trying to do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got a point there,” said Dirk heavily. “With the whole of the Ministry and all of their informers looking for him I’d have expected him to be caught by now. Not to mention the resources looking for the Malfoy boy and Deaumont girl.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked. “Why are they looking for Sarah and Draco?”

“Apparently You-Know-Who wants them found and taken alive,” Dirk explained. “Something about Lucius Malfoy being sure that his son and friend has been cursed the entire time. Rumour is that they want to make Death Eaters of the pair, yet.”

Sarah turned to Draco and matched his scowl.

Dean scoffed loudly outside. “I can’t believe people would buy that,” he said. “Malfoy, cursed? Rubbish. He and Harry have been dating for years. And Sarah’s their best friend. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were with him now.”

“Who’s to say they haven’t all already been caught and killed without it being publicised?” Dirk said darkly.

“Ah, don’t say that, Dirk,” murmured Ted.

There was a long pause filled with more clattering of knives and forks. When they spoke again it was to discuss whether they ought to sleep on the bank or retreat back up the wooded slope. Deciding the trees would give better cover, they extinguished their fire, then clambered back up the incline, their voices fading away.

Sarah, Draco, Ron, Harry and Hermione reeled in the Extendable Ears. They all stared at each other in silence until Harry said weakly, “The sword – “

“I know!” said Hermione.

She lunged for her tiny beaded bag, this time sinking her arm in it right up to the armpit.

“Here…we…are…” she said between gritted teeth, and she pulled something that was evidently in the depths of the bag. Slowly the edge of an ornate picture frame came into sight. Draco hurried to help her. As they lifted the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus free of Hermione’s bag, Sarah kept her wand pointing at it, ready to cast a spell at any moment.

“If somebody swapped the real sword for the fake while it was in Dumbledore’s office,” Hermione panted, as they propped the painting against the side of the tent, “Phineas Nigellus would have seen it happen, he hangs right beside the case!”

“Unless he was asleep,” said Harry.

“Unlikely,” Sarah scoffed. “Slytherins love drama – _and_ he’s a Black.”

Draco rolled his eyes at her before going to kneel in front of the empty canvas.

“Phineas Nigellus?” he said hesitantly, looking over his shoulder at them. “Professor Black? Please could we talk to you for a moment?”

“’Please’ always helps,” said a cold, snide voice, and Phineas Nigellus slid into his portrait. At once, Sarah cried:

“ _Obscuro!”_

A black blindfold appeared over Phineas Nigellus’ clever, dark eyes, causing him to bump into the frame and shriek with pain.

“What – how dare – what are you?”

“My deepest apologies, Mr Black,” said Sarah primly. “It is an unfortunate precaution.”

“Remove this foul addition at once! Remove it, I say! You are running a great work of art! Where am I? What’s going on?”

“Great work of art?” Sarah scoffed. “You usually hang in an unused room, I’d be thanking us that you may have the opportunity for a change of scenery.”

Phineas Nigellus went quiet and then groaned, “You’re that Slytherin girl, aren’t you? The friend of Mr Potter’s? Deaumont, if I’m right?”

“Enchanté,” Sarah drawled. “It’s no wonder Sirius left you alone.”

“That’s right,” Phineas said. “I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting you and your tag-along when you resided in my family home.”

“Lovely to know that you think of your descendent as a mere tag-along,” Draco said dryly. “The family resemblance to my Great-Aunt is uncanny.”

“Don’t give me attitude, boy!” cried Phineas Nigellus. “Tell me where I am!”

“Never mind where we are,” said Harry, and Phineas Nigellus froze, abandoning his re-attempts to peel off the painted blindfold.

“Can that possibly be the voice of the elusive, Mr Potter?”

“Maybe,” said Harry. “We’ve got a couple of questions to ask you – about the sword of Gryffindor.”

“Ah,” said Phineas Nigellus, now turning his head this way and that in an effort to catch sight of Harry, “yes. That silly girl acted most unwisely there – “

“Shut up about my sister!” said Ron roughly. Phineas Nigellus raised supercilious eyebrows.

“Who else is there?” he asked, turning his head from side to side. “Your tone displeases me! The girl and her friends were foolhardy in the extreme. Thieving from the headmaster!”

“They weren’t thieving,” said Harry. “The sword isn’t Snape’s.”

“It belongs to Professor Snape’s school,” said Phineas Nigellus. “Exactly what claim did the Weasley girl have upon it? She deserved her punishment, as did the idiot Longbottom and the Lovegood oddity!”

“Neville is not an idiot and Luna is not an oddity!” said Hermione.

“Where am I?” repeated Phineas Nigellus, starting to wrestle with the blindfold again. “Where have you brought me? Why have you removed me from the house of my forebears?”

“Ugh, can we just ask him the questions and then put him away again?” Sarah asked. “He’s giving me a headache.”

Harry demanded answers about what happened to Ginny, Neville and Luna and thankfully they had only been sent into the forest with Hagrid. Harry and Hermione kept trying to get answers out of the portrait but it was only when he said something about Dumbledore that Sarah truly turned her attention back to them.

“I believe that last time I saw the sword of Gryffindor leave its case was when Professor Dumbledore used it to break open a ring.”

Sarah whipped around the look at Harry. No one dared say anything in front of the portrait, who had, at last, managed to locate an exit.

“Well, good night to you,” he said a little waspishly, and he disappeared from view. Immediately, Sarah grabbed the painting and began shoving it back into Hermione’s beaded bag with Draco and Harry’s help. When they were finished, they turned to face one another with identical hopeful expressions.

“The sword can destroy Horcruxes!” Sarah exclaimed. Draco nodded eagerly at her and then turned to his boyfriend.

“Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthen them – Harry, the sword’s impregnated with basilisk venom!”

“And Dumbledore didn’t give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket – “ Harry said.

“ – and he must have realised they wouldn’t let you have it if he put it in his will – “

“ – so he made a copy – “

“ – and put a fake in the glass case – “

“ – and he left the real one – where?”

The four of them gazed at each other; Sarah felt that the answer was dangling invisibly in the air above them, tantalisingly close. Why hadn’t Dumbledore told Harry? Or had he, in fact, told Harry, but Harry had not realised it at the time?

“Think!” whispered Hermione. “Think! Where would he have left it?”

“Not at Hogwarts,” said Sarah, beginning to pace.

“Somewhere in Hogsmeade?” suggested Draco.

“The Shrieking Shack?” said Harry. “Nobody ever goes in there.”

“But Snape knows how to get in, wouldn’t that be a bit risky?” said Sarah.

“Dumbledore trusted Snape,” Harry reminded her.

“Not enough to tell him that he had swapped the swords,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, you’re right!” said Harry. “So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade, then? What d’you reckon, Ron? Ron?”

Sarah looked around. For one bewildering moment, she thought Ron had left the tent, then realised that Ron was lying in the shadow of a lower bunk, looking stony.

“Oh, remembered me, have you?” he said.

“What?” asked Harry.

Ron snorted as he stared up at the underside of the upper bunk.

“You guys carry on. Don’t let me spoil your fun.”

Perplexed, Sarah looked to Hermione and Harry for help, but they shook their heads, apparently as nonplussed as she was.

“What’s the problem?” Draco asked eventually.

“Problem? There’s no problem,” said Ron, still refusing to look at any of them. “Not according to you, anyway.”

There were several _plunks_ on the canvas over their heads. It had started to rain.

“Well, you’ve obviously got a problem,” said Sarah. “Spit it out, will you?”

Ron swung his long legs off the bed and sat up. He looked mean, unlike himself.

“All right, I’ll spit it out. Don’t expect me to skip up and down the tent because there’s some other damn thing we’ve got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don’t know.”

“Ron, this is a _good_ thing,” Sarah said incredulously, but he ignored her.

 _Plunk, plunk, plunk_. The rain was falling harder and heavier; it pattered on the leaf-strewn bank all around them and into the river chattering through the dark. Dread doused Sarah’s jubilation: Ron was saying exactly what Harry had suspected and feared him to be thinking.

“It’s not like I’m not having the time of my life here,” said Ron, “you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we’d been running round a few weeks, we’d have achieved something,”

“Ron,” Hermione said, but in such a quiet voice that Ron could pretend not to have heard it over the loud tattoo the rain was now beating on the tent.

“You think we’re all having a jolly time?” Sarah snapped. “We’re all just as tired, hungry and cold as you! And I have been working _tirelessly_ to fix your arm.”

“You’re obviously not as good as you claimed to be, then,” Ron spat. “Or else it’d be fixed by now.”

Sarah gaped at him in shock.

“I thought you knew what you’d signed up for,” said Harry.

“Yeah, I thought I did too.”

“So what part of it isn’t living up to your expectations?” asked Draco savagely. “Did you think we’d be staying in five-star hotels? Finding Horcruxes every other day? Did you think you’d be back to Mummy by Christmas?”

“We thought Harry knew what he was doing!” shouted Ron, standing up. He turned toward Harry. “We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!”

“Ron!” said Hermione, this time clearly audible over the rain thundering on the tent roof, but again, he ignored her.

“Well, sorry to let you down,” said Harry, his voice calm even though his eyes looked hollow, “I’ve been straight with you from the start. I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve found one Horcrux – “

“Yeah, and we’re about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them – nowhere fucking near, in other words!”

“Take off the locket, Ron,” Hermione said, her voice usually high. “Please take it off. You wouldn’t be talking like this if you hadn’t been wearing it all day.”

“Yeah, he would,” said Harry. “D’you reckon I haven’t noticed the two of you whispering behind my back? D’you think I didn’t guess you were thinking this stuff?”

“Harry, we weren’t – “

“Don’t lie!” Ron hurled at Hermione. “You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you’d thought he had a bit more to go on than – “

“I didn’t say it like that – Harry, I didn’t!” Hermione cried.

“Ron, stop it!” shouted Sarah. “Stop it right now!”

The rain was pounding the tent, tears were pouring down Hermione’s face, and the excitement of a few minutes before had vanished as if it had never been, a short-lived firework that had flared and died, leaving everything dark, wet, and cold. The sword of Gryffindor was hidden somewhere they knew not, and they were five teenagers in a tent whose only achievement was not, yet, to be dead.

“So why are you still here?” Harry asked Ron.

“Search me,” said Ron.

“Go home, then,” said Harry.

“Yeah, maybe I will!” shouted Ron, and he took several steps toward Harry, who did not back away. “Didn’t you hear what they said about my sister! But you don’t give a shit, do you, it’s only the Forbidden Forest, Harry _I’ve-Faced-Worse_ Potter doesn’t care what happened to her in there – well, I do, all right, giant spiders and mental stuff – “

“I was only saying – she was with the others, they were with Hagrid – “

“Yeah, I get it, you don’t care! And what about the rest of my family, ‘the Weasley’s don’t need another kid injured’, did you hear that?”

“Yeah, I – “

“Not bothered what it meant, though?”

“Ron!” said Sarah loudly. “It probably just meant Bill or George – “

“Oh, you’re sure, are you? Right then, well, I won’t bother myself about them. What if it was Fred, huh? Would you care then? Or maybe not. It’s all right for you and Harry, isn’t it, with your parents safely out of the way – “

“Our parents are _dead_!” Harry bellowed.

“And mine could be going the same way!” yelled Ron.

“Then GO!” roared Harry. “Go back to them, pretend you’ve got over your spattergroit and Mummy’ll be able to feed you up and – “

Ron made a sudden movement: Harry reacted, but before either wand was clear of its owner’s pocket, Draco had raised his own.

“ _Protego!”_ he cried, and an invisible shield expanded between them on one side and Ron on the other; all of them were forced backwards a few steps by the strength of the spell, and Harry and Ron glared from either side of the transparent barrier as though they were seeing each other clearly for the first time. Something had broken between them.

“Leave the Horcrux,” Harry said.

Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. He turned to Hermione.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you staying, or what?”

“I…” She looked anguished. “Yes – yes, I’m staying, Ron, we said we’d go with Harry, Sarah and Draco, we said we’d help – “

“I get it. You choose him.”

“Ron, no – please – come back, come back!”

She was impeded by Draco’s Shield Charm; by the time he had removed it, Ron had already stormed into the night. Sarah, Harry and Draco stood quite still and silent, listening to Hermione sobbing and calling Ron’s name amongst the trees.

After a few minutes she returned, her sopping hair plastered to her face.

“He’s g-gone! Disapparated!”

She threw herself into chair, curled up, and started to cry.

Sarah felt dazed. Faintly, she registered Draco leading Harry to the bunks and sitting down with him, murmuring quietly in his ear. Sarah shook herself and stooped down, picked up the Horcrux and placed it around her own neck. She grabbed a few blankets and placed them gently over Hermione before settling down beside the crying girl, gathering her tightly into her arms. They sat there in silence, listening to the pounding of the rain.


	8. Chapter Eight

When Sarah woke the following day, it was several seconds before she remembered what had happened. She continued to lay there for a while longer, listening to the soft sounds of Hermione’s breathing. With a start, she sat up, wondering who was on watch.

Draco’s tired but bemused face greeted her as she pushed her way out of the tent flaps.

“Morning,” he said. “Did you bring me coffee?”

“Sorry, darling, no,” she replied. “I was worried no one was on watch.”

Draco sighed morosely and pouted at her until she rolled her eyes and went back inside, returning a few minutes later with two steaming cups of coffee.

“This came from your secret stash,” Sarah chided.

“The one you’re not meant to know about,” frowned Draco. His face smoothed, however, after he had taken a long sip.

“Obviously, I know about it,” scoffed Sarah. “Who do you think keeps refilling it?”

“I thought it was my lovely house-elf,” teased Draco, ducking as Sarah swung a hand at him.

Sarah settled back comfortably and watched as the sun rose slowly in the distance. Birdsong tickled her ears, mixing and playing with the sounds of small animals rummaging for an early morning meal.

“How long have you been out here?” she asked Draco quietly.

Draco sighed slightly and turned to look at her with clouded grey eyes.

“Since about an hour after Ron left,” he admitted. “I managed to talk Harry down from his proverbial ledge and might have spiked his tea with some Sleeping Draught. You and Hermione were already out so I decided to take watch.”

Sarah laughed slightly. “I may have been a bit heavy-handed with Hermione’s Sleeping Draught,” she confessed. “Have you eaten?”

Draco shook his head. “Not hungry.”

A noise from inside the tent caught their attention and they both turned toward the entrance.

“If it’s Harry, I’ll deal with it,” Draco whispered, “Hermione is all yours.”

“Deal,” muttered Sarah. She stood and pulled Draco to his feet.

It turned out that Hermione had been the first to wake up from the Sleeping Draught and was now puttering around the small kitchen, her face blotchy, eyes still slightly red.

“Good morning,” she said in a thick voice. “Porridge?”

They both accepted but Hermione didn’t really seem to hear them; she just kept doing what she had been doing.

“I was thinking of going out today to look for a grocers,” Sarah voiced once three steaming bowls of porridge had been placed on the table.

Hermione didn’t react, just kept mechanically spooning food into her mouth. Sarah glanced at Draco to see her won worry reflected in his eyes. It was at that moment that Harry appeared in the kitchen. He didn’t seem to be able to look at Hermione, and same vice versa. Somehow, Sarah and Draco had found themselves in the middle of one of the most awkward and difficult friend breakup ever.

“Maybe we should move first and then you can go?” Draco offered, answering Sarah’s previous comment.

“I can go,” said Harry in a flat voice.

“No, no, it’s all right,” Sarah assured, briefly placing her hand on top of his. “I won’t be very long. How long will you guys need until you’ll be ready to go?”

She got a shrug and silence in response.

The next half hour passed quickly as Sarah and Draco packed up, removing the enchantments and preparing the other two for departure as heavy rain fell around them. Hermione kept attempting to linger as long as she could but eventually it wasn’t possible anymore. The four of them grasped hands and Disapparated, reappearing on a windswept heather-covered hillside which Sarah’s mother had taken her and Draco too years ago.

The instant they arrived, Hermione dropped their hands and walked away, finally sitting down on a large rock, her face on her knees, shaking with what Sarah knew were sobs. Harry watched her for a moment before turning away to begin the protective enchantments. Instead, it was Draco was walking slowly over to Hermione to sit beside her. Sarah made a hasty exit as soon as she could and returned victorious with two full bags of food and new clothes.

They did not discuss Ron at all over the next few days. Harry seemed determined to never mention his name again, and Hermione seemed to know that it was no use forcing the issue, although sometimes at night when she thought they were sleeping, Sarah would hear her crying. It was on those nights that Sarah would crawl in beside Hermione and let her sob into her shoulder.

By day, they devoted themselves to trying to determine the possible locations of Gryffindor’s sword, but the more they talked about the places in which Dumbledore might have hidden it, the more desperate and far-fetched their speculation became. Sarah once caught Harry muttering the words Ron had hurled at him under his breath after another failed brainstorming session. 

“Harry.”

He didn’t seem surprised to see she had followed him on his short walk.

“What do you want, Sarah?” His voice was very flat, emotionless. Draco had been getting increasingly more worried when nothing he did got more than a haunted stare.

“Give me the locket.”

She waited with her hand out until Harry had passed over the Horcrux, but instead of slipping it around her own neck, she dropped it into her jacket pocket.

“I don’t want our emotions toyed with,” she said in explanation to Harry’s curious glance. “Come sit.”

“I know what you’re going to do,” Harry said dryly.

“Do you?” she replied lightly. “Enlighten me, O’ Wise one.”

Harry scoffed slightly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed Draco whispering about me to you.”

“He’s worried,” agreed Sarah. “And so am I – about _both_ you and Hermione.”

“What do you want me to say, Sarah? Ron’s gone, he left us.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and stared defiantly out across the current forest landscape they were in.

“Yes, he did,” she said calmly. “But he also left Draco and me.” Harry turned to look at her with a furrowed brow. “Yes, he left you and Hermione and was quite horrible about it, but don’t forget that he also was quite nasty to Draco and me. And, despite this, we know that you and Hermione need our support. So don’t push us away.”

Harry was silent for a few moments before he said, “I didn’t think about it like that.”

“Obviously,” Sarah drawled, smiling at him. “Just know that I, too, am extremely pissed. Nobody takes a shot at my mother like that.”

Harry’s green eyes widened dramatically. “I almost forget he said that about you.”

“Lucky you,” she replied wryly. “That’s not the point. The point is that, yes, your best friend left you, but you still have two more here trying their hardest to be there for you – Merlin, one of them is your _boyfriend_ , the least you can do is give him a hug and actually look like you mean it.”

Harry let out a surprised laugh and Sarah smiled brightly at him.

“Hermione will come around,” she assured. “She’s not angry at you; she’s just incredibly heartbroken and hurt. She thought Ron would never leave us, leave _her_. And to come to terms with the reality…” Sarah sighed. “Well, it’s difficult. Don’t make it worse.”

Harry nodded and reached over to grab Sarah’s hand.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly.

“Oh, don’t thank me,” she laughed. “I can only deal with so much of Draco’s whining. This is entirely for selfish reasons.”

Judging by Harry’s bright laughter that echoed around the empty woods, Sarah knew he hadn’t bought her lie.

They were spending many evenings in near silence and Hermione took to bringing out Phineas Nigellus’s portrait and propping it up in a chair, as though he might fill part of the gaping hole left by Ron’s departure. Despite his previous assertion that he would never visit them again, Phineas Nigellus did not seem able to resist the chance to find out more about what they were up to, and consented to reappear, blindfolded, every few days or so. Draco or Sarah usually found themselves sitting cross-legged before the painting, chatting quietly with the professor. They relished any news about what was happening at Hogwarts, though Phineas Nigellus was not an ideal informer. He venerated Snape, the first Slytherin headmaster since he himself had controlled the school, and they had to be careful not to criticise or ask impertinent questions about Snape, or Phineas Nigellus would leave his painting. This meant that Draco found himself recounting various stories about Snape’s godfather duties more often than not.

However, Phineas Nigellus did drop certain snippets. Snape seemed to be facing a constant, low level of mutiny from a hard core of students. Ginny had been banned from going into Hogsmeade. Snape had reinstated Umbridge’s old decree forbidding gatherings of three or more students or any unofficial student societies.

From all these things, Sarah deduced that Ginny, and probably Neville and Luna along with her, had been doing their best to continue Dumbledore’s Army. This scant news made Sarah miss Hogwarts horribly. Phineas Nigellus kept making pointed comments about Harry being Undesirable Number One, with a ten-thousand Galleon price on his head, emphasising this fact by slipping in leading questions about their whereabouts. Hermione shoved him back inside the beaded bag every time he did this, and Phineas Nigellus invariably refused to reappear for several days after these unceremonious goodbyes.

The weather grew colder and colder. They did not dare remain in any one area too long, so rather than staying in the south of England, where a hard ground frost was the worst of their worries, they continued to meander up and down the country, braving a mountainside, where sleep pounded the tent; a wide, flat marsh, where the tent was flooded with chill water; and a tiny island in the middle of a Scottish loch, where snow half-buried the tent in the night.

They had already spotted Christmas trees twinkling from several sitting room windows before there came an evening when Harry resolved to suggest, again, the only unexplored avenue left to them. They had just eaten an unusually good meal: Sarah had been to a supermarket and managed to come away with a good selection of food, and Harry seemed to think that a full stomach would make them all more persuadable than usual. Hermione was currently on watch as Draco caught a few hours’ sleep.

“Er – Sarah?” he said, clearing his throat into the silence.

“Hmm?” she hummed, not looking up from Hermione’s _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ copy, which Dumbledore had left her. Something had caught her eye and she couldn’t quite understand what it was. Next to her, Harry kept talking.

“I’ve been thinking, and – “

“Sorry, but could you help me with something?” Sarah interrupted. “Look at this symbol.” She pointed to the top of a page. Above the runes which spelt out the title of the story, there was a picture of what looked like a triangular eye, its pupil crossed with a vertical line.

“I never took Ancient Runes, Sarah,” Harry said, frowning at the page.

“I know that, I’ve already shown Hermione and Draco but none of us know what it is,” Sarah explained. “It’s not a rune. It looks like a picture of an eye but somebody has inked it in. Think, have you ever seen it before?”

“No…No, wait a moment.” Harry looked closer. “Isn’t it the same symbol Luna’s dad was wearing around his neck?”

“I thought so, but I only saw it for a second…”

“Then it’s Grindelwald’s mark.”

Sarah stared at him, open-mouthed.

“ _What_?”

“Viktor told me…”

He recounted a story of Grindelwald carving that sign on the walls of Durmstrang, resulting in it being associated with Dark Magic. Sarah looked at him in astonishment.

“Never let me call you an idiot again,” she said. “ _Grindelwald’s_ mark?”

She looked from Harry to the weird symbol and back again. “I’ve never heard that Grindelwald had a mark. There’s no mention of it in anything I’ve ever read about him.”

“Well, like I said, Viktor reckoned that symbol was carved on a wall at Durmstrang and Grindelwald put it there.”

She fell back into the old armchair, frowning.

“That’s very odd. If it’s a symbol of Dark Magic, what’s it doing in a book of children’s stories?”

“Yeah, it is weird,” said Harry. “And you’d think Scrimgeour would have recognised it. He was Minister, he ought to have been an expert on Dark stuff.”

Sarah kept frowning down at the eye, one thought racing through her head. then she remembered that Harry had been trying to say something before.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I interrupted you earlier,” she apologised. “What did you want to say?”

“I – er – I want to go to Godric’s Hollow,” he said hesitantly.

Sarah sighed. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ve been thinking that too. I really think we’ll have to.”

“Did you hear me right?” he asked. “You’ve constantly said it was too dangerous.”

“I know. But I agree now. I mean, I can’t think of anywhere else it could be either. It _will_ be dangerous but the more I think about it, the more likely it seems to be there.”

“Er – _what’s_ there?” asked Harry.

Sarah blinked up at him, bewildered.

“Well, the sword, Harry! Dumbledore must have known you’d want to go back there, and I mean, Godric’s Hollow is Godric Gryffindor’s birthplace – “

“Really? Gryffindor came from Godric’s Hollow?”

Sarah levelled an unimpressed look at him and he flushed slightly.

“Well, as the village is named after him I assumed you had made the connection,” she said dryly. “There’s a bit about the village in _A History of Magic_ …I’m sure Hermione mentioned it, wait a moment…”

She opened her small handbag and Summoned the textbook, thumbing through it until she found the page she wanted.

“’ _Upon the signature of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, wizards went into hiding for good. It was natural, perhaps, that they formed their own small communities within a community. Many small villages and hamlets attracted several magical families, who banded together for mutual support and protection. The villages of Tinworth in Cornwall, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery St. Catchpole on the south coast of England were notable homes to knots of Wizarding families who lived alongside tolerate and sometimes Confunded Muggles. Most celebrated these half-magical dwelling places is, perhaps, Godric’s Hollow, the West Country village where the great wizard Godric Gryffindor was born, and where Bowman Wright, Wizarding smith, forged the first Golden Snitch. The graveyard is full of the names of ancient magical families, and this accounts, no doubt, for the stories of hauntings that have dogged the little church beside it for many centuries.’_ You and your parents aren’t mentioned,” Sarah said, closing the book, “because she doesn’t both doing anything later than the nineteenth century.”

Harry stared at her blankly until she rolled her eyes and said, “Do you see? Godric’s Hollow, Godric Gryffindor, Gryffindor’s sword; don’t you think Dumbledore would have expected you to make the connection?”

“Oh, yeah…” Harry finally said, slightly dumbly.

“You weren’t thinking about the sword were you?” guessed Sarah.

Harry shook his head and smiled sheepishly. “No, but it was an interesting passage.”

“You didn’t listen to a word of it.”

“But you enjoyed it.”’

Sarah scoffed and burrowed further into her armchair.

“Doesn’t Bathilda Bagshot still live in Godric Hollow?” Harry asked unexpectedly.

Sarah looked at him like he was an unusual specimen found in the corner of Snape’s classroom.

“Last I heard, yes…” she said. “How do you know that?”

“Muriel told me at the wedding,” he explained.

“Great-Aunt Muriel?” Sarah said in disbelief. “Why on earth were you talking to her about Bagshot?”

“Don’t worry about that now,” Harry said, waving his hand. “What if she has the sword? What if Dumbledore entrusted it to her?”

Sarah could feel her face transform into a dubious grimace.

“I don’t know…”

“Think about it, Sarah!” Harry enthused. “Dumbledore used to live there – they would have known each other. And even if they didn’t, they _definitely_ would have before he died. It’s worth going.”

“I already agreed we should go,” Sarah said pointedly. “But we also need to check with Draco and Hermione. We’ll need to be _extremely_ careful if we go.”

It took Harry a few days to convince Draco it was a good idea to go to Godric’s Hollow. Sarah had explained it to Hermione the same day when she took over watch, and Hermione had been eager to go, some light finally returning to her dark eyes.

They got some hairs of Muggles from a nearby town for Harry, Hermione and Draco and ensured they had had enough Polyjuice Potion for the three of them before leaving, the four of them covered by the Invisibility Cloak. They Apparated into a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night’s first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the centre of the village.

“All this snow!” Hermione whispered. “Why didn’t we think of snow? After all our precautions, we’ll leave prints! We’ll just have to get rid of them – you and Draco go in front, Harry – Sarah and I’ll do it – “

“Let’s take off the Cloak,” said Harry. Draco looked at him incredulously and Harry added, “Oh, come on, we don’t look like us and there’s no one around.”

He stowed the Cloak under his jacket and they made their way forward unhampered, the icy air stinging their faces as they passed more cottages: Any of them might have been the one in which James and Lily Potter had once lived or where Bathilda lived now. Sarah gazed at the front doors, their snow-burdened roofs, and their front porches, wondering how bizarre it was to be a stranger within their quiet familiarity. Then the little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them.

Strung all around with coloured lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square.

The snow here had become impacted. It was very hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day. Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by streetlamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed; then they heard a carol start up inside the little church.

“I think it’s Christmas Eve,” said Draco.

“It is?”

Sarah had lost track of the date; they had not seen a newspaper for weeks.

“I’m sure it is,” said Draco, his eyes upon the church. “They…They’ll be in there, won’t they? Your mother and father? I can see the graveyard behind it.”

Harry gazed toward it and Sarah and Hermione fell back to let him and Draco walk toward the small stone walls lining the graveyard.

Halfway across the square, however, Hermione stopped dead.

“Harry, look!”

She was pointing at the war memorial. As they had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother’s arms. Snow lay upon all their heads, like fluffy white caps.

Harry drew closer, gazing up at his parents’ faces. The others allowed him to view it alone.

“C’mon,” he said, apparently looking his fill, and they turned again toward the church.

The singing grew louder as they approached the church. It made Sarah’s throat constrict, it reminded her so forcefully of Hogwarts, of Peeves and the twins bellowing rude versions of carols in the halls, of the Great Hall’s twelve Christmas trees, of Dumbledore wearing a bonnet when he had won in a cracker, of Mrs Weasley’s hand-made sweaters…

There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. Draco pushed it open as quietly as possible and they edged through it. One either side of the slippery path to the church doors, the snow lay deep and untouched. They moved off through the snow, carving deep trenches behind them as they walked around the building, keeping to the shadows beneath the brilliant windows.

Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow. Keeping her hand closed tightly on the wand in her pocket, Sarah moved toward the nearest grave.

"Look at this, it’s an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah’s!”

“Keep your voice down,” Hermione begged her.

They waded deeper and deeper into the graveyard, gouging dark tracks into the snow behind them, stooping to peer at the words on old headstones, every now and then squinting into the surrounding darkness to make absolutely sure that they were unaccompanied.

“Hermione, come here!”

Hermione hurried over to Sarah; the boys were a few rows away and kept walking, oblivious to what Sarah had found.

“Is it - ?”

“No, but look.”

She pointed at the dark stone. Hermione stooped down and read the inscription upon the frozen, lichen-spotted granite, the words KENDRA DUMBLEDORE and, a short way below her dates of birth and death, AND HER DAUGHTER ARIANA. There was also a quotation:

_‘Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.’_

Rita Skeeter and Muriel were right: the Dumbledore family had indeed lived here, and part of it had died here.

“Should we tell Harry?” Hermione whispered.

Sarah shook her head. “We’ll tell him later. Let’s keep looking.”

After a few more minutes of searching, Draco found a gravestone with the same eye symbol in Hermione’s book.

“Ig – Ignotus, I think it says…” Draco told them, clearing away ice and dead leaves.

“I’m going to keep looking for my parents, all right?” Harry said, before walking off again.

Hermione, Draco and Sarah examined the gravestone.

“Wasn’t Ignotus one of the brothers from the children’s story?” Sarah asked Draco.

“Which story?” Hermione said.

“The Three Brothers,” Draco answered. “It’s in your book.”

“I remember that one,” Hermione said slowly. “It’s the one with Death, right?”

Both Sarah and Draco nodded.

“There’s a lot of debate about the identities of the brothers,” Sarah explained. “The Peverell family was supposedly the most likely.”

“It’s all conspiracies and hearsay, though,” Draco stated. “It’s just a story. Where did Harry go? Harry? Harry – oh.”

Sarah turned to where Draco was looking. Harry was standing in front of a pale headstone, staring silently down at it.

The three of them quietly made their way toward him and when they arrived, they noticed that tears had begun to fall down Harry’s cheeks. Draco slid his arm around the other boy and Harry fell into him, still staring at his parent’s grave.

“’ _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_ ’…” Harry read slowly. “Isn’t that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?”

“It doesn’t mean defeating death in the way Death Eaters mean it, Harry,” said Sarah, her voice gentle. “It means…you know…living beyond death. Living after death.”

Sarah watched as his face crumpled. She took out her wand and crouched down in front of the grave. A bouquet of white apple blossoms appeared from the end of her wand and she gently lay them on the against the headstone.

“Remus – er – said they were your mother’s favourite,” Sarah said quietly.

She stepped back but felt a hand suddenly grab hers. Harry looked at her intensely and mouthed, _thank you_.

She smiled at him and slipped under his free arm, hugging him tightly. Hermione stepped up beside Draco and grasped his free hand and the four of them stood there in silence before the grave, moonlight glinting off the pale stone and snow, as haunting echoes of distant singing danced in the cold night air.


	9. Chapter Nine

“Wait, stop.”

“What’s wrong?”

They had just reached the grave of the unknown Abbot when Draco stopped them.

“There’s someone there. Someone watching us. I can tell. There, over by the bushes.”

They stood quite still, holding on to each other, gazing at the dense black boundary of the graveyard. Sarah could not see anything.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

“I saw something move, I could have sworn I did…”

Draco broke away from Harry to free his wand arm. Sarah followed his lead and surreptitiously slid her wand into her hand.

“We look like Muggles,” Harry pointed out.

“Muggles who’ve just been laying flowers on your parents’ grave!” Hermione added.

They waited in silence for a few more seconds before Harry said, “Let’s get out of here, and we can put the Cloak back on.”

They glanced back repeatedly as they made their way out of the graveyard. Sarah was glad to reach the gate and the slippery pavement. They pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves, casting a few Disillusionment Charms on their feet. The pub was fuller than before; many voices inside it were now singing the carol that they had heard as they approached the church.

“Let’s go this way,” Hermione murmured, leading them down the dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. They made sure to stay on the packed snow on the pavement so as to not leave footprints. Sarah could make out the point where the cottages ended and the lane turned into open country again. They walked as quickly as they dared, past more windows sparkling with multicoloured lights, the outlines of Christmas trees dark through the curtains.

“How are we going to find Bathilda’s house?” asked Sarah, shivering slightly. She kept looking over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed.

But Harry had stopped walking. Sarah tugged at his arm but he didn’t move. He was staring toward the dark mass that stood at the very end of this row of houses. Next moment he had sped up, dragging them along with him.

“Harry – “ Draco started.

“Look…Look at it, guys…”

“I don’t…oh!”

The Fidelius Charm must have died with James and Lily. The hedges had grown wild in the sixteen years since Hagrid had taken Harry from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that, Sarah was sure, was where the curse had backfired. The four of them stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

“I wonder why nobody’s ever rebuilt it?” whispered Draco.

“Maybe you can’t rebuild it?” Harry replied. “Maybe it’s like the injuries from Dark Magic and you can’t repair the damage?”

“Doesn’t work that way with houses…” Sarah muttered absently.

Harry slipped a hand from beneath the Cloak and grasped the snowy and thickly rusted gate.

“Harry, look!” Draco said, pointing at the gate.

Harry’s touch had resulted in a sign rising out of the ground in front of them, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981,  
Lily and Hames Potter lost their lives.  
Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard  
ever to have survived the Killing Curse.  
This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left  
in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters  
and as a reminder of the violence  
that tore apart their family.

And all around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood; still, others had let messages. The most recent of these said similar things: good luck, we’re all behind you, love live Harry Potter.

“They shouldn’t have written on the sign!” said Hermione, indignant.

But Harry beamed at her.

“It’s brilliant. I’m glad they did. I…”

He broke off. A heavily muffled figure was hobbling up the lane toward them, silhouetted by the bright lights in the distant square. Sarah thought, though it was hard to judge, that the figure was a woman. She was moving slowly, possibly frightened of slipping on the snowy ground. Her stoop, her stoutness, her shuffling gait, all gave an impression of extreme age. They watched in silence as she drew nearer. Sarah was waiting to see whether she would turn into any of the cottages she was passing, but she knew instinctively that she would not. At last she came to a halt a few yards away from them and simply stood there in the middle of the frozen road, facing them.

There was next to no chance that this woman was a Muggle: she was standing there gazing at a house that ought to have been completely invisible to her, if she was not a witch. Even assuming that she _was_ a witch, however, it was odd behaviour to come out on a night this cold, simply to look at an old ruin. By all the rules of normal magic, meanwhile, she ought not to have been able to see Sarah, Draco, Hermione and Harry at all. Sarah had the strangest feeling that she knew that they were there, and also who they were. Just as she had reached this uneasy conclusion, the woman raised a gloved hand and beckoned.

Hermione moved closer to Sarah under the Cloak, her arm pressed against Sarah’s.

“How does she know?”

She shook her head. The woman beckoned again, more vigorously. There was no way Sarah was going to let them follow the woman.

Then Harry spoke, causing them all to jump.

“Are you Bathilda?”

The muffled figure nodded and beckoned again.

Beneath the Cloak, the four of them looked at each other. Harry raised his eyebrows at them. Hermione gave a tiny, nervous nod while Draco pursed his lips. Sarah was shaking her head at them all but was overpowered.

Scowling deeply, she followed the others as they stepped toward the woman who, at once, turned and hobbled off back the way they had come. Leading them past several houses, she turned in at a gate. They followed her up the front path through the garden nearly as overgrown as the one they had just left. She fumbled for a moment with a key at the front door, then opened it and stepped back to let them pass.

She smelled bad, or perhaps it was her house. Sarah wrinkled her nose as they sidled past her and pulled off the Cloak. Now that they were beside her, Sarah noted how tiny she was; bowed down with age, she came barely up to Harry and Draco’s chests. She closed the door behind them, her knuckles blue and mottled against the peeling paint, then turned and peered into Harry’s face. Her eyes were thick with cataracts and sunken into folds of transparent skin, and her whole face was dotted with broken veins and liver spots. Sarah wondered whether she could make out Harry at all; even if she could, it was the balding Muggle whose identity he had stolen that she would see.

The odour of old age, of dust, of unwashed clothes and stale food intensified as she unwound a moth-eaten black shawl, revealing a head of scant white hair through which the scalp showed clearly. Sarah took a delicate step away from the woman, closer into the house.

“Bathilda?” Harry repeated.

She nodded again. She shuffled past them, pushing Hermione and Draco aside as though she had not seen them, and vanished into what seemed to be a sitting room.

“Harry, I’m not sure about this,” breathed Sarah.

“Look at the size of her; I think we could overpower her if we had to,” said Harry. “Listen, I should have told you, I knew she wasn’t all there. Muriel called her ‘gaga’.”

A sudden noise from the next room made Sarah jump.

“It’s okay,” Harry said reassuringly as he led them into the sitting room.

“Be careful,” Draco murmured to Harry, subtly pushing Sarah and Hermione behind him.

Bathilda was tottering around the place lighting candles, but it was still very dark, not to mention extremely dirty. Thick dust crunched beneath their feet, and Sarah’s nose detected, underneath the dank and mildewed smell, something worse, like meat gone bad. She wondered when the last time anyone had been inside Bathilda’s house to check whether she was coping. She seemed to have forgotten that she could do magic, too, for she lit the candles clumsily by hand, her trailing lace cuff in constant danger of catching fire.

“Let me do that,” offered Harry, and he took the matches from her.

Sarah gripped Hermione’s arm tightly as she looked around the sitting room.

“I have a really bad feeling about this,” she muttered to the other girl, who nodded and gripped her wand tightly.

Harry got distracted by a photograph on the mantel and Draco went over to him, a questioning look on his pinched face.

“Mrs – Miss – Bagshot?” Harry said suddenly, and his voice shook slightly. “Who is this?”

Bathilda was standing in the middle of the room watching Hermione light the fire for her.

“Miss Bagshot?” Harry repeated, clutching the photograph. “Who is this person?”

She peered at it solemnly, then up at Harry.

“Do you know who this is?” he repeated in a much slower and louder voice than usual. “This man? Do you know him? What’s he called?”

Bathilda merely looked vague. Harry made a sound of frustration.

“Who is this man?” he repeated loudly.

“Harry, what are you doing?” asked Draco.

“This picture, Draco, it’s the thief, the thief who stole from Gregorovitch! Please!” Harry said, turning back to Bathilda. “Who is this?”

But she only stared at him.

“Why did you ask us to come with you, Mrs – Miss – Bagshot?” asked Hermione, raising her own voice. “Was there something you wanted to tell us?”

Giving no sign that she had heard Hermione, Bathilda now shuffled a few steps closer to Harry. With a little jerk of her head, she looked back into the hall.

“You want us to leave?” he asked.

She repeated the gesture, this time pointing firmly at him, then at herself, then at the ceiling.

“Oh, right…guys, I think she wants me to go upstairs with her.”

“All right,” said Draco, “let’s go.”

But when Draco moved, Bathilda shook her head with surprising vigour, once more pointing first at Harry, then to herself.

“She wants me to go with her, alone.”

“Why?” asked Sarah, and her voice rang out sharp and clear in the candlelit room; the old lady shook her head a little at the loud noise.

“Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me, and only to me?”

“Do you really think she knows who you are?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “I think she does.”

Sarah pursed her lips. Behind her, Draco said rather reluctantly, “Okay then, but be quick, Harry.”

“Lead the way,” Harry told Bathilda.

As the pair disappeared down the hall, Sarah rounded on the other two.

“Something is definitely wrong,” she said in a furious whisper. “Why won’t she speak? If she knows it’s us and Dumbledore _did_ give her the sword, surely she would be more accommodating.” Sarah looked around at the mess. “And what’s with this house? Nobody can live in this, it’s filthy.”

Draco and Hermione shared an uneasy glance.

“I’m going to wait by the stairs,” Sarah announced. Draco nodded at her and turned toward the large, dust-covered bookcase.

When Sarah arrived at the stairs, she heard an odd thump from above.

“Harry?” she called, only to get no reply. Another thump, louder this time made her rush up the stairs, Draco and Hermione’s names falling from her lips in a worried cry.

When she reached the landing, however, she found herself face-to-face with not a tiny old lady, but a great snake. Nagini struck her and she fell sideways through the open door, crashing painfully into a cabinet. She screamed as a vicelike grip fixed itself onto her leg.

Thundering footsteps sounded and a voice screamed loudly from the left. A bright light burst into the room, illuminating Harry’s limp figure across from Sarah.

Suddenly, Nagini released her and Sarah curled up, groaning, and wrapped her arms around her chest. Spikes of pain shot through her as she coughed roughly. Smashes and screams echoed around her and then suddenly, a pair of arms were lifting her off the ground. She let out another scream as acid flowed through her veins.

“Hold on!” a voice shouted, and then she blacked out.

***

When she woke up, the first thing she did was roll over and puke all over the ground.

“Shit!” somebody cried, and hands were suddenly grasping at her hair, keeping it out of the way.

Sarah gasped for breath and opened her eyes, ignoring the silver spots that danced in her vision. Her chest felt like it was on fire but she couldn’t put together enough comprehensive thought to do anything about it.

“What…happened…?” she choked.

“Well, Nagini attacked us,” Harry’s voice said from above.

“I had figured out that much for myself,” she coughed.

Draco scoffed from beside them and Sarah blinked a few times to make out his hazy figure sitting in an armchair which had been pulled up beside the bed.

“After you got hit, Hermione and I distracted the snake and managed to grab you and my idiotic boyfriend and Disapparate,” Draco explained.

“How long have I been out?” she asked. “Where’s my wand?”

“A while,” Draco said, passing her the smooth wooden wand. “You and Harry were both quite ill.”

“I’m blaming the broken ribs,” Sarah muttered. “What was wrong with Harry?”

“He was shouting and moaning,” Draco answered.

“I had one of my visions,” Harry said. Sarah looked up and realised he was on the bunk above her, peering down in worry. “It was pretty bad.”

“And the stupid Horcrux burnt onto his skin,” Draco grumbled. “We have to use a Severing Charm to get it off. Luckily, Hermione and I were able to heal your snake bites but I think you should have a look at them, Sarah.”

“First I have to heal these ribs,” she replied. “Get the bucket ready.”

She did indeed puke again after she cast her spell, the bones snapping back into place and fusing together painfully.

“Son of a _bitch!”_ she swore. “Holy fucking shit that hurts!”

“I see Sarah’s awake,” came Hermione’s voice. She had just pushed her way through the tent flaps. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a fucking snake squished me like a mouse,” Sarah replied. “But better now.”

She peered down at her leg where half-healed puncture marks glinted palely against her skin.

“ _Vulnera Sanentur_ ,” she murmured a few times until the skin healed over completely, leaving only two, small white scars.

Harry’s arm dropped down in front of her and she looked up into his grinning face. Rolling her eyes, she repeated the spell on his own puncture marks until they too healed themselves.

“Where’ve you put the Horcrux?” Harry asked Hermione and Draco.

“In my bag. I think we should keep it off for a while,” Hermione replied.

Harry stared at them all sadly.

“We shouldn’t have gone to Godric’s Hollow. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault, guys, I’m sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up, it’s not your fault,” snapped Draco. “We wanted to go too; we really thought Dumbledore might have left the sword there for you.”

“Yeah, well…we got that wrong, didn’t we?” grumbled Harry.

“What happened, Harry?” Hermione asked. “What happened when she took you upstairs? Was the snake hiding somewhere? Did it just come out and kill her and attack you?”

“No,” he said. “ _She_ was the snake…or the snake was her…all along.”

Hermione and Draco exchanged confused glances.

“Bathilda must have been dead a while,” Harry elaborated. “The snake was…was inside her. You-Know-Who put it there in Godric’s Hollow, to wait. You guys were right. He knew I’d go back.”

“That’s revolting,” Sarah groaned. “Where is the firewhiskey when we need it?”

“Remus said there would be magic we’d never imagine,” Harry continued, ignoring Sarah, quite rudely in her opinion. “She didn’t want to talk in front of you, because it was Parseltongue, all Parseltongue and I didn’t realise, but of course I could understand her. Once we were up in the room, the snake sent a message to You-Know-Who, I heard it happen inside my head, I felt him get excited, he said to keep me there…and then…”

Harry shuddered, looking into the distance as if reliving the memory.

“…she changed, changed into the snake, and attacked,” he finished. “It wasn’t meant to kill me, just keep me there till You-Know-Who came.”

He suddenly threw back his covers and dropped down from the bunk.

“Harry, no, you ought to rest!” Draco said at once.

“You’re the one who needs sleep. No offence, babe, but you look terrible. I’m fine. I’ll keep watch for a while. Where’s my wand?”

Neither Draco nor Hermione answered.

“Where’s my wand, Draco? Hermione?” Harry repeated.

Hermione was biting her lip and tears swam in her eyes.

“Harry…”

“ _Where’s my wand?_ ”

Hermione reached down beside the bed and held it out to him.

The holly and phoenix wand was nearly severed in two. One fragile strand of phoenix feather kept both pieces hanging together. The wood had splintered apart completely. Harry took it into his hands as though it was a living thing that had suffered a terrible injury; Sarah felt ill just looking at it. Then Harry held out the wand to Hermione and Draco.

“Mend it. Please.”

“Harry, I don’t think, when it’s broken like this – “ Hermione tried.

“Please, Hermione, try!”

“ _R-Reparo.”_

The dangling half of the wand resealed itself. Harry held it up.

“ _Lumos!”_

The wand sparked feebly, then went out. Harry pointed it at Hermione.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_

Hermione’s wand gave a little jerk, but did not leave her hand. The feeble attempt at magic was too much for Harry’s wand and Sarah watched in dismay as it split in two again.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered so quietly they could hardly hear her. “I’m so, so sorry. I think it was me. As we were leaving, you know, the snake was coming for us, and so I cast a Blasting Curse, and it rebounded everywhere, and it must have – must have hit – “

“It was an accident,” said Harry mechanically. “We’ll – we’ll find a way to repair it.”

“Harry, I don’t think we’ll be able to,” said Hermione, the tears trickling down her face. “Remember…remember Ron? When he broke his wand, crashing the car? It was never the same again, he had to get a new one.”

“You can borrow mine,” said Draco, standing up and pressing his hawthorn wand into Harry’s hands.

Harry took it silently and allowed Draco to lead him out of the tent. Hermione came and sat down in Draco’s vacated seat, her face in her hands.

“It was an accident, Hermione,” Sarah said firmly. She propped herself up as much as her sore ribs could take. “Yes, it’s unfortunate, but there are three others wands Harry can use until we figure out how to get him another one. You can’t beat yourself up about this.”

Hermione nodded, tears still streaming down her face, so Sarah grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the bed beside her, allowing the other girl to bury her face into Sarah’s shoulder and cry.

***

Hours passed before Harry and Draco ventured inside again. Harry quietly assured Hermione he wasn’t angry at her and didn’t blame her for what happened, to which Hermione collapsed into a tearful embrace.

Draco revealed that he had taken a copy of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ , by Rita Skeeter, from Bagshot’s bookcase. He read out an excerpt explaining young Dumbledore’s life and the death of Dumbledore’s sister Ariana. It included information about his friendship with Gellert Grindelwald, a fact that had Harry quite incensed. Sarah and the others let him rant about how hypocritical Dumbledore was, with his talk of “for the Greater Good” which fuelled Grindelwald’s later actions.

“Harry, I think the reason you’re so angry about this is because he never told you himself,” Hermione said.

“Maybe I am!” Harry bellowed, flinging his arms over his head. “Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And the lives of your friends! Again and again! And don’t expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I’m doing, trust me even though I don’t trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!”

His voice cracked with the strain and they stood looking at him in the quiet tent.

Hermione looked toward Sarah and Draco for help.

“Sorry, Hermione,” said Sarah, shrugging, “but I never liked the man.”

“He manipulated Harry and Sirius and Remus one too many times, in my opinion,” Draco added.

Dismayed, Hermione turned back to Harry.

“He loved you,” she whispered. “I know he loved you.”

“I don’t know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn’t love, the mess he’s left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me.

Harry picked up Draco’s wand and marched out of the tent.

“Tag team, I’ll go,” Sarah announced, hauling herself out of the bed. Draco narrowed his eyes at the hand she pressed against her ribs. “It’s nothing,” she assured him, patting his cheek. “I’ve had much worse from Quidditch.”

He was still frowning when she walked away.

Harry had taken a spot just outside the tent, a blanket laid on the ground beneath with one over his shoulders.

“Shove over, grumps,” Sarah said in greeting.

She lowered herself gingerly to the ground beside him, hiding a wince as much as she could.

Harry, of course, saw it.

“Should you be moving around?” he asked her, draping half the blanket over her.

“Would anyone be able to stop me?” she retorted, raising her eyebrow at him. Harry conceded her point with a nod.

Sarah sighed and looked out across the snow-covered forest.

“It really is beautiful,” she said. “Shame we can’t truly enjoy it.”

“What do you want, Sarah?” Harry asked quietly.

“I want to know what you’re thinking,” she replied calmly.

He scoffed slightly but humoured her.

“I’m thinking that I’ve been a fool to blindly trust a man who went to so much effort to keep things from me,” he confessed. “What?” he added after her extended silence, “you’re not going to disagree with me?”

“Of course not.” It was her turn to scoff now. “Dumbledore was a secretive old man and I’ve always thought you put too much faith in him. But maybe I was biased,” she admitted. “I will readily admit that he used you, Harry. He gave you the support you needed at eleven and he exploited it. He made you feel special, important – and you _are_ , don’t get me wrong – but he used it for his own reasons.”

Harry watched her pensively and she smiled wryly at him.

“I know you adored the old man,” she said softly. “But it doesn’t mean that his treatment of you was okay.”

“Draco said the exact same thing,” Harry revealed. “It’s uncanny how you two think the same.”

“Geniuses are always on the same page,” she said haughtily, smirking at the dark-haired boy.”

Harry laughed. “You’d think a genius would know better than to run into a room blind during an attack,” he said.

“It wasn’t like I _knew_ there’d be a giant snake intent on suffocating me,” grumbled Sarah. “I blame you entirely. I never would have done something so Gryffindor if you hadn’t been in there. You’re a horrible influence.”

“I am sorry,” Harry said severely. “I should have listened – “

“Forget about it,” Sarah interrupted. “I’m a tough girl, I’ll live.” She smiled wickedly at him. “It just means I get to boss you around until I’m fully healed.”

“You boss me around anyway,” Harry told her. “Nothing would be different.”

“You _wound_ me,” she gasped. “Cruel, _cruel_ boy.”

Harry rolled his eyes at her. She smiled brightly and leant against his side, relishing the heat radiating off his body.

“We’ll figure it out,” she told him. “No matter how long it takes. We’ll find the Horcruxes and get rid of that son of a bitch once and for all. You just have to stay focused and strong.”

“I know.”

“Good, because there’s only so much optimism that Draco and my bodies can take so we need your Gryffindorness at full capacity.”

“What does that even mean?” Harry asked her incredulously.

She shrugged and groaned when it jostled her ribs. “The infinite workings of a phantasmagorical mind such as my own cannot be traversed by mere mortals without execrable consequences. Heed my warning and surcease in your endeavours.”

Harry stared at her.

“Sometimes I don’t even think you speak in English,” he stated.

“You’re right,” she agreed. “I commonly find myself slipping into French unknowingly.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry groaned.

“I think you mean I’m _magnifique_ ,” she smirked.

Harry dropped his face into his hands as Sarah’s laugh echoed through the quiet trees.


	10. Chapter Ten

When they moved the next day, they did so under the Invisibility Cloak because Hermione was worried about hearing someone moving around in the night just outside their protective spells.

“It was probably just the snow,” she had said, but she didn’t look like she believed herself.

“Where are we?” asked Sarah once they had Apparated. She looked around and, alas, more trees surrounded them. Hermione and Draco had opened the beaded bag and began tugging out tent poles.

“The Forest of Dean,” Hermione answered. “I came camping here once with my mum and dad.”

Here too snow lay on the trees all around and it was bitterly cold, but they were at least protected from the wind. They spent most of the day inside the tent, huddled for warmth around the useful bright blue flames that Hermione was so adept at producing, and which could be scooped up and carried around in a jar. Sarah felt as though she was recuperating from some brief but severe illness, an impression reinforced by Draco’s solicitousness. The bruises on her side were thankfully healing quickly but no matter how much she rested, Draco refused to let her leave either the bed or the couch. She was still glaring at him sulkily when Hermione brought her a new cup of tea hours later.

That night, Sarah fell into an uneasy sleep. Their escape from Godric’s Hollow had been so narrow that Voldemort seemed somehow closer than before, more threatening. Draco was curled up beside her on the bunk, Hermione above them as Harry took watch. Every so often, Sarah woke up thinking she had heard something creeping around outside but nothing was ever there.

It was only after she had managed to drop off into a deeper sleep that she was roughly awoken.

“ _Sarah! Draco! Hermione_!”

Draco was out of the bed with his wand raised a second after Harry’s exclamation.

“What’s wrong? Harry? Are you all right?” he asked.

“It’s okay, everything’s fine. More than fine, I’m great. There’s someone here,” Harry babbled.

“Someone’s _here_?” repeated Sarah, sliding out of the bunk. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you sopping wet?” Draco added.

Sarah then noticed that Harry’s hair and clothes were plastered to his body and he was shivering with a mixture of excitement and cold. Hermione dropped down beside Sarah.

“What do you mean? Who – ?”

It was at this moment that the three of them noticed the figure behind Harry, holding a sword and dripping onto the threadbare carpet. Hermione moved like a sleepwalker toward Ron, her eyes upon his pale face. She stopped right in front of him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide. Ron gave a weak, hopeful smile and half raised his arms.

Hermione launched herself forward and started punching every inch of him that she could reach.

“Ouch – ow – gerroff! What the - ? Hermione – OW!”

“You – complete – _arse_ – Ronald – Weasley!”

She punctuated every word with a blow; Ron backed away, shielding his head as Hermione advanced.

“You – crawl – back – here – after – weeks – and – weeks – oh, _where’s my wand­?”_

She looked as though ready to wrestle it out of Harry’s hands and he reacted instinctively.

“ _Protego_!”

The invisible shield erupted between Ron and Hermione. The force of it knocked her backward onto the floor. Spitting hair out of her mouth, she leapt up again.

“Hermione!” said Harry. “Calm – “

“I will not calm down!” she screamed. Never before had Sarah seen her lose control like this; she looked quite demented. “Give me back my wand! _Give it back to me_!”

She spun toward Draco and Sarah, eyes flashing.

“Give me one of your wands so I can _kill_ him – “

Draco put a hand on Sarah’s arm to stop her from passing over her wand.

“Hermione, will you please – “

“Don’t tell me what to do, Harry Potter!” she screeched. “Don’t you dare! Give it back now! And YOU!”

She was pointing at Ron in dire accusation; it was like a malediction, and Sarah wasn’t surprised that Ron retreated several steps.

“I came running after you! I called you! I begged you to come back!”

“I know,” Ron said, “Hermione, I’m sorry, I’m really – “

“Oh, you’re _sorry_?” Sarah said sarcastically, crossing her arms with an unimpressed look on her face. “Well, I guess that makes it all better then.”

Hermione let out a laugh, a high-pitched, out-of-control sound; Ron looked at Harry for help, but Harry merely grimaced his helplessness.

“You come back after weeks – _weeks_ – and you think it’s all going to be all right if you just say _sorry_?”

“Well, what else can I say?” Ron shouted.

“Oh, I don’t know!” yelled Hermione with awful sarcasm. “Rack your brains, Ron, that should only take a couple of seconds – “

“Hermione,” interjected Harry, “he just saved my – “

“I don’t care!” she screamed. “I don’t care what he’s done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been _dead_ for all he knew – “

“I knew you weren’t dead!” bellowed Ron, drowning her voice for the first time, and approaching as close as he could with the Shield Charm between them. “Harry’s all over the _Prophet_ , all over the radio, they’re looking for you everywhere, all these rumours and mental stories, I knew I’d hear straight off if you were dead, you don’t know what it’s been like –

“What it’s been like for _you_?” Sarah said in a deathly quiet voice. The dichotomy between the two levels of sound shut everyone up as she glared at Ron. “I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been for you, _Weasley_. It’s not like we very nearly _died_ the other day – “

“I wanted to come back the minute I Disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, and I couldn’t go anywhere!” Ron said quickly.

“A gang of what?” asked Harry, as Hermione threw herself down into a chair with her arms and legs crossed so tightly it seemed unlikely she would unravel them for several years.

“Snatchers,” said Ron. “They’re everywhere – gangs trying to earn gold by rounding up Muggleborns and blood traitors, there’s a reward from the Ministry for everyone captured. I was on my own and I look like I might be school age; they got really excited, thought I was a Muggleborn in hiding. I had to talk fast to get out of being dragged to the Ministry.”

Sarah turned back to her bunk as Ron explained how he escaped the Snatchers. She was furious, beyond furious, and on top of that, hurt. He had said some truly horrible things before he left and now just expected them all to forgive him like no time had passed and nothing had happened?

“Disarmed the bloke holding mine, and Disapparated, I didn’t do it so well, Splinched myself again” – Ron held up his right hand to show two missing fingernails; Hermione raised her eyebrows coldly – “and I came out miles from where you were. By the time I got back to that bit of riverbank where we’d been…you’d gone.”

“Gosh, what a gripping story,” Hermione said in a lofty voice she adopted when wishing to wound. “You must have been simply terrified. Meanwhile, we went to Godric’s Hollow and, let’s think, what happened there, Harry? Draco? Oh yes, You-Know-Who’s snake turned up, it nearly killed Sarah and Harry, and then You-Know-Who himself arrived and missed us by about a second.”

“What?” Ron said, gaping at each of them.

“Imagine losing fingernails,” Sarah said dryly, smiling cruelly at Ron. “That really puts our sufferings into perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Sarah,” said Harry quietly, “Ron just saved my life.”

“And where was he when Sarah’s ribs were broken?” Draco asked quietly. “Or when you were writhing in agony with a Horcrux burning into your skin?”

“One thing I would like to know, though,” Hermione said, fixing her eyes on a spot a foot over Ron’s head. “How exactly did you find us tonight? That’s important. Once we know, we’ll be able to make sure we’re not visited by anyone else we don’t want to see.”

Ron glared at her, then pulled out a silver object from his jeans pocket.

“This.”

“The Deluminator?” Sarah said, each word dripping from her mouth coated thickly in derisiveness.

“It doesn’t just turn the lights on and off,” said Ron. “I don’t know how it works or why it happened then and not any other time, because I’ve been wanting to come back ever since I left. But I was listening to the radio really early on Christmas morning and I heard…I heard Hermione.”

“You heard me on the radio?” she asked incredulously.

“No, I heard you coming out of my pocket. Your voice,” he held up the Deluminator again, “came out of this.”

“What did Hermione say?” Draco asked sceptically.

“My name,” Ron said. “And something…something about a wand…”

Hermione went a fiery shade of scarlet. Sarah remembered; it had been the first time Ron’s name had been said aloud by any of them since the day he left, Hermione had mentioned it when talking about repairing Harry’s wand.

“So I took it out,” Ron went on, looking at the Deluminator, “and it didn’t seem different or anything, but I was sure I’d heard you. So I clicked it. And the light went out in my room, but another light appeared right outside the window.”

Ron raised his empty hand and pointed it in front of him, his eyes focused on something none of them could see.

“It was a ball of light, kind of pulsing, and bluish, like that light you get around a Portkey, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“I knew this was it,” said Ron. “I grabbed my stuff and packed it, then I put on my rucksack and went out into the garden. The little ball of light was hovering there, waiting for me, and when I came out if bobbed along a bit and I followed it behind the shed and then it…well, it went inside me.”

“Sorry?” said Harry.

“It sort of floated toward me,” said Ron, illustrating the movement with his free index finger, “right to my chest, and then – it just went straight through. It was here,” he touched a point close to his heart, “I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me, I knew what I was supposed to do, I knew it would take me where I needed to go. So I Disapparated and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere…”

“We were there,” said Harry. “We spent two nights there, and the second night I kept thinking I could hear someone moving around in the dark and calling out!”

“Yeah, well, that would’ve been me,” said Ron. “Your protective spells work, anyway, because I couldn’t see you and I couldn’t hear you. I was sure you were around, though, so in the end I got in my sleeping bag and waited for one of you to appear. I thought you’d have to show yourselves when you packed up the tent.”

“No, actually,” said Hermione. “We’ve been Disapparating under the Invisibility Cloak as an extra precaution. And we left really early, because, as Harry says, we’d heard someone blundering around.”

“Well, I stayed on that hill all day,” said Ron. “I kept hoping you’d appear. But when it started to get dark I knew I must have missed you, so I clicked the Deluminator again, the blue light came out and went inside me, and I Disapparated and arrived here in these woods. I still couldn’t see you, so I just had to hope one of you would show yourselves in the end – and Harry did. Well, I saw the doe first, obviously.”

“You saw the what?” said Hermione sharply.

Harry and Ron launched into an explanation of how they had both seen a silver doe leading somewhere in the woods. Harry had followed it and found the sword of Gryffindor in a frozen pond, which Harry dived into and nearly drowned when the locket began choking him. Ron had saved him and then used the sword to destroy the Horcrux.

“But it must have been a Patronus!” Draco said. “Couldn’t you see who was casting it? Didn’t you see anyone? And it led you to the sword! I can’t believe this. How could you be so _stupid_ , Harry, to wander off alone!”

“But it went…just like that?” Hermione said, staring at the broken locket.

“Well, it – it screamed,” said Harry with a half glance at Ron. Sarah guessed that they were omitting something but she didn’t have enough energy to care. “Here.”

Harry through the locket into Hermione’s lap; gingerly she picked it up and examined its punctured windows.

Harry removed the Shield Charm with a wave of Hermione’s wand and turned to Ron.

“Did you just say you got away from the Snatchers with a spare wand?” he asked.

“What?” said Ron, who had been watching Hermione examine the locket. “Oh – oh yeah.”

He tugged open a buckle on his rucksack and pulled a short, dark wand out of its pocket. “Here. I figured it’s always handy to have a backup.”

“You were right,” said Harry, holding out his hand. “Mine’s broken.”

“You’re kidding?” Ron said, but at that moment Hermione got to her feet, and he looked apprehensive again.

Hermione put the vanquished Horcrux into the beaded bag, then climbed back into her bed and settled down without another word.

Ron passed Harry the new wand.

“About the best you could hope for, I think,” murmured Harry to Ron.

Sarah snorted harshly and climbed into her own bed, feeling it dip a second later as Draco hopped in behind her.

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Could’ve been worse. Remember those birds she set on me? And I’m sure Sarah and Draco could come up with something nasty.”

“Don’t test me,” Sarah warned as Hermione said in a muffled voice, “I still haven’t ruled it out.”

Sarah turned into Draco’s chest and his arms wrapped around her. It was a long time before either of them drifted off to sleep.

***

Sarah and Hermione refused to speak to Ron over the next few days. Sarah was furious at him for what he said before abandoning them and didn’t hesitate to constantly scoff or make scathing comments whenever he said something positive about destroying a Horcrux. But mainly, Sarah was angry on behalf of Hermione. The two girls spent most of the following days together, Hermione ranting and fuming about Ron and his audacity to come back acting like he never left. Sarah knew that Hermione was still incredibly heartbroken by his actions and wasn’t ready to forgive him any time soon. The only time Harry had approached Sarah pleading for her to be nice to Ron, Sarah had shouted herself hoarse about how Sarah had spent _weeks_ comforting Hermione when she didn’t want the boys to know she was still upset. Harry had scampered away scolded and was wise enough not to ask again. Draco had chosen to be neutral ground; he was civil with Ron and didn’t actively encourage Sarah and Hermione’s treatment of the other boy. Instead, he stayed quiet, usually curled up beside Harry, face pinched in thought as they tried to decide where to go next.

The only useful bit of information Ron brought back with him was that Voldemort had put a Taboo on his name: anyone who said it was immediately swarmed by Death Eaters, protective enchantments or not.

Sarah was taking first watch with Harry at the tent’s entrance, watching him try to levitate small stones with his borrowed wand Ron had gotten from the Snatchers, when Ron himself sat down beside them. Sarah scowled by didn’t acknowledge the other boy, focusing instead on Harry’s feeble progress. Ron had a small wooden wireless with him and started to try and tune it.

“There’s this one program,” he told them in a low voice, “that tells the news like it really is. All the others are on You-Know-Who’s side and are following the Ministry line, but this one…you wait till you hear it, it’s great. Only they can’t do it every night, they have to keep changing locations in case they’re raided, and you need a password to tune in…Trouble is, I missed the last one…”

He drummed lightly on top of the radio with his wand, muttering random words under his breath. He threw Sarah and Hermione, who was lying on the bottom bunk reading, covert glances, plainly fearing an angry outburst, but for all the notice they took of him he might not have been there. For ten minutes or so Ron tapped and muttered, Hermione turned the pages of her book, Draco snored quietly from the couch, and Sarah watched Harry practice with the blackthorn wand.

Finally, Hermione climbed off the back. Ron ceased his tapping at once.

“If it’s annoying, I’ll stop!” he told Hermione nervously. Sarah scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Hermione did not deign to respond, but approached Sarah and Harry.

“We need to talk,” she said.

Sarah looked at the book still clutched in Hermione’s hand. It was _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_.

“What?” Harry said apprehensively.

“I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood.”

Sarah stared at her.

“Sorry?”

“Xenophilius Lovegood. Luna’s father. I want to go and talk to him!”

Harry looked at Sarah, equally as bewildered.

“Er- why?”

Hermione took a deep breath as though bracing herself, and said, “It’s that mark, the mark in _Beedle the Bard_. Look at this!”

She thrust _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ under Sarah and Harry’s unwilling eyes and they saw a photograph of the original letter Dumbledore had written Grindelwald, with Dumbledore’s familiar thin, slanting handwriting.

“The signature,” said Hermione. “Look at the signature!”

Sarah obeyed.

“Holy shit,” she gasped.

The _A_ of Albus had been replaced by a tiny version of the same triangular mark inscribed upon _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_.

“Er – what are you - ?” Ron said tentatively, but Hermione quelled him with a look and turned back to Sarah and Harry.

“It keeps cropping up, doesn’t it?” she said. “I know Viktor said it was Grindelwald’s mark, but it was definitely on that old grave in Godric’s Hollow, and the dates on the headstone were long before Grindelwald came along! And now this! Well, we can’t ask Dumbledore or Grindelwald what it means – I don’t even know whether Grindelwald’s still alive – but we can ask Mr Lovegood. He was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I’m sure this is important!”

Harry did not answer immediately. He looked at Hermione’s intense, eager face and then at Sarah, who shrugged and nodded.

After a long pause, Harry said, “Hermione, we don’t need another Godric’s Hollow. We talked ourselves into going there, and – “

“I think we should go.”

Draco had woken up and obviously heard enough to understand what they were talking about. He walked up beside Hermione and peered at the picture of the letter.

“I think Hermione’s right,” he went on. “The mark is important and we need to know why. Besides,” he added with a small smile, “it’s just Luna.”

“It won’t be like Godric’s Hollow,” Ron added, “Lovegood’s on your side, Harry, _The Quibbler_ ’s been for you all along, it keeps telling everyone they’ve got to help you!”

“I’m sure this is important!” said Hermione earnestly.

“But don’t you think that if it was, Dumbledore would have told me about it before he died?” countered Harry.

“Maybe…maybe it’s something you need to find out for yourself,” said Hermione with a faint air of clutching at straws.

“Yeah,” said Ron sycophantically, “that makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” snapped Hermione and Sarah together. Sarah continued, “The symbol links Dumbledore, Grindelwald and Godric’s Hollow, Harry. I agree with Hermione and Draco, we ought to know what it is.”

“I think we should vote on it,” said Ron. “Those in favour of going to see Lovegood – “

His hand flew into the air before Hermione’s. Her lips quivered suspiciously as she raised her own, Draco’s following with a slight smirk. Sarah just stared at Ron is disgust and didn’t bother raising her own, Harry knew she was on board.

“Outvoted, Harry, sorry,” said Ron, clapping him on the back.

“Fine,” Harry acquiesced. “Only, once we’ve seen Lovegood, let’s try and look for some more Horcruxes, shall we? Where do the Lovegoods live anyway? Do any of you know?”

“Yeah, they’re not far from my place,” said Ron. “I dunno exactly where but Mum and Dad always point toward the hills whenever they mention them. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

They had an excellent view of the village of Ottery St. Catchpole from the breezy hillside to which they Disapparated next morning. From their high vantage point the village looked like a collection of toy houses in the great slanting shafts of sunlight stretching to earth in the breaks between the clouds. Sarah’s chest felt tight as she and the others stood for a moment looking toward the Burrow, their hands shadowing their eyes, but all they could make out were the high hedges and trees of the orchard, which afforded the crooked little house protection from Muggle eyes.

“It’s weird, being this near, but not going to visit,” said Ron.

“Well, it’s not like you haven’t just seen them. You were there for Christmas,” said Sarah coldly.

“I wasn’t at the Burrow!” said Ron with an incredulous laugh. “Do you think I was going to go back there and tell them all I’d walked out on you? Yeah, Fred and George would’ve been great about it. And Ginny, she’d have been really understanding.”

“But where have you been then?” asked Hermione, surprised.

“Bill and Fleur’s new place, Shell Cottage. Bill’s always been decent to me. He – he wasn’t impressed when he heard what I’d done, but he didn’t go on about it. He knew I was really sorry. None of the rest of the family knew I was there. Bill told Mum he and Fleur weren’t going home for Christmas because they wanted to spend it alone. You know, first holiday after they were married. I didn’t think Fleur minded. You know how much she hates Celestina Warbeck.”

Ron turned his back on the Burrow.

“Let’s try up here,” he said, leading the way over the top of the hill.

They walked for a few hours. Harry, at Draco’s insistence, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak. The cluster of low hills appeared to be uninhabited apart from one small cottage, which seemed deserted.

“Do you think it’s theirs and they’ve gone away for Christmas?” said Hermione, peering through the window at a neat little kitchen with geraniums on the windowsill. Draco snorted.

“I’ve got a feeling we’ll be able to tell where Luna lives,” he grinned. “Let’s try the next lot of hills over there.”

So they Disapparated a few miles farther north.

“Aha!” shouted Ron, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes.

Ron was pointing upward, toward the top of the hills on which they had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great black cylinder with a ghostly moon hanging behind it in the afternoon sky. “That’s got to be Luna’s house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook!”

Ron’s legs were the longest and he reached the top of the hill first, Draco behind him. When Sarah and Hermione caught up with the two boys, and the invisible Harry’s indents in the grass, they found them grinning broadly.

“It’s theirs,” said Draco. “Look.”

Three hand-painted signs had been tacked to a broken-down gate. The first was reference to Mr Lovegood as editor to _The Quibbler_ , the next was permission to pick their own mistletoe, and the last a warning to keep off the dirigible plums.

The gate creaked as they opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of odd plants, including a bush covered in the orange radish-like fruit Luna sometimes wore as earrings. Sarah thought she recognised a Snargaluff and gave the wizened stump a wide berth. Two aged crab apple trees, bent with the wind, stripped of leaves but still heavy with berry-sized red fruits and bushy crowns of white-beaded mistletoe, stood sentinel on either side of the front door. A little owl with a slightly flattened, hawklike head peered down at them from one of the branches.

“You’d better take off the Invisibility Cloak, Harry,” said Sarah. “It’s you Mr Lovegood wants to help, not us.”

He did as she suggested, handing her the Cloak to stow in the beaded bag. She then rapped three times on the thick black door, which was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle.

Barely ten seconds passed, then the door was flung open and there stood Xenophilius Lovegood, barefoot and wearing what appeared to be a stained nightshirt. His long white candyfloss hair was dirty and unkempt.

“What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?” he cried in a high-pitched querulous voice, looking first at Sarah, then Draco, then Harry directly behind them, upon which his mouth fell open in a perfect, comical O.

“Hello, Mr Lovegood,” said Harry, holding out his hand. “I’m Harry, Harry Potter.”

Xenophilius did not take Harry’s hand, although the eye that was not pointing inward at his nose slid straight to the scar on Harry’s forehead.

“Would it be okay if we came in?” asked Harry. “There’s something we’d like to ask you.”

“I…I’m not sure that’s advisable,” whispered Xenophilius. He swallowed and cast a quick look around the garden. “Rather a shock…My word…I…I’m afraid I don’t really think I ought to – “

“It won’t take long,” said Harry.

“I – oh, all right then. Come in, quickly. _Quickly_!”

They were barely over the threshold when Xenophilius slammed the door shut behind them. They were standing in the most peculiar kitchen Sarah had ever seen. The room was perfectly circular, so that it felt like being inside a giant pepper pot. Everything was curved to fit the walls – the stove, the sink, and the cupboard – and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright primary colours. Sarah thought she recognised Luna’s style; the effect, in such an enclosed space, was slightly overwhelming.

In the middle of the floor, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the upper levels. There was a great deal of clattering and banging coming from overhead: Sarah wondered what Luna could be doing.

“You’d better come up,” said Xenophilius, still looking extremely uncomfortable, and he led the way.

The room above seemed to be a combination of living room and workplace, and as such, was even more cluttered than the kitchen. Though much smaller and entirely round, the room somewhat resembled the Room of Requirement piled high with hidden objects. There were piles upon piles of books and papers on every surface. Delicately made models of creatures Sarah did not recognise, all flapping wings or snapping jaws, hung from the ceiling.

Luna was not there; the thing that was making such a racket was a wooden object covered in magically turning cogs and wheels. It looked like the bizarre offspring of a workbench and a set of old shelves, but after a moment Sarah deduced it was an old printing press, due to the fact that it was churning out _Quibblers_.

“Excuse me,” said Xenophilius, and he strode over to the machine, seized a grubby tablecloth from beneath an immense number of books and papers, which all tumbled onto the floor, and threw it over the press, somewhat muffling the loud bangs and clatters. He then faced Harry.

“Why have you come here?”

Before Harry could speak, however, Hermione let out a small cry of shock.

“Mr Lovegood – what’s that?”

She was pointing at an enormous, grey spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room. Sarah let out a choked sound.

“It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack,” said Xenophilius.

“No it isn’t!” said Hermione.

“Hermione,” muttered Sarah, embarrassed, “now is not the moment – “

“But Sarah, it’s an Erumpent horn! It’s a Class B Tradeable Material and it’s an extremely dangerous thing to have in a house - !”

“And that’s enough of that,” Sarah interrupted, patting Hermione on the arm. She turned to Xenophilius. “So sorry about that Mr Lovegood.”

“Exactly why have you come here, Miss Deaumont?” he said.

“We need some help,” she replied, shooting a glance at Harry quickly.

“Ah,” said Xenophilius. “Help. Hm.” His good eye moved again to Harry’s scar. He seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerised. “Yes. The thing is…helping Harry Potter…rather dangerous…”

“Aren’t you the one who keeps telling everyone it’s their first duty to help Harry?” said Ron. “In that magazine of yours?”

Xenophilius glanced behind him at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth.

“Er – yes, I have expressed that vie. However – “

“ – that’s for everyone else to do, not you personally?” said Draco.

Xenophilius did not answer. He kept swallowing, his eyes darting between the five of them. Sarah had the impression that he was undergoing some painful internal struggle.

“Where’s Luna?” asked Sarah. “Let’s see what she thinks.”

Xenophilius gulped. He seemed to be steeling himself. Finally he said, in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press, “Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She…she will like to see you. I’ll go and call her and then – yes, very well. I shall try to help you.”

He disappeared down the spiral staircase and they heard the front door open and close. They looked at each other.

“Cowardly old wart,” said Ron. “Luna’s got ten times his guts.”

“He’s probably worried about what’ll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here,” said Harry.

“Well, I agree with Ron,” said Hermione. “Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help you and trying to worm out of it himself. And for heaven’s sake keep away from that horn.”

“Does anyone else think something is off?” Draco asked, looking around at the cluttered room.

Sarah crossed to the window on the far side of the room. She could see a stream, a thin, glittering ribbon lying far below them at the base of the hill. They were very high up; a bird fluttered past the window as she stared in the direction of The Burrow, now invisible beyond another line of hills. Fred was over there somewhere. They were close to each other today than they had been since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but he could have no idea she was gazing towards him now, thinking of him. She supposed she ought to be glad of it; anyone she came into contact with not was in danger, Xenophilius’ attitude proved that.

She turned away from the window and her gaze fell upon another peculiar object, standing upon the cluttered, curved sideboard: a stone bust of a beautiful but austere looking witch wearing a most bizarre-looking headdress. Two objects that resembled golden ear-trumpets curved out from the sides. A tiny pair of glittering blue wings were stuck to a leather strap that ran over the top of her head, while one of the orange radishes had been stuck to a second strap around her forehead.

“Look at this,” said Sarah.

“Fetching,” said Draco.

“Surprised he didn’t wear that to the wedding,” snorted Ron.

They heard the front door open close and a moment later, Xenophilius had climbed back up the spiral staircase into the room, his thin legs now encased in wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and a steaming teapot.

“Ah, you have spotted my pet invention,” he said, shoving the tray into Hermione’s arms and joining Sarah at the statue’s side. “Modelled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw. _Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure!”_

He indicated the objects like ear-trumpets.

“There are the Wrackspurt siphons – to remove all sources of distraction from the thinker’s immediate area. Here,” he pointed out the tiny wings, “a Billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally,” he pointed to the orange radish, “the Dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary.”

For once, Sarah was utterly speechless.

Xenophilius strode back to the tea tray, which Hermione had managed to balance precariously on one of the cluttered side tables.

“May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots?” said Xenophilius. “We make it ourselves.” As he started to pour out the drink, which was as deeply purple as beetroot juice, he added, “Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here. She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plimpies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar.

Sarah joined Draco and Harry on the lopsided couch and accepted a cup.

“Now,” Xenophilius said as he removed a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, his wellingtoned legs crossed, “how may I help you, Mr Potter?”

“Well,” said Harry, glancing at Sarah, who nodded encouragingly, “it’s about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Mr Lovegood. We wondered what it meant.”

Xenophilius raised his eyebrows.

“Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?”


	11. Chapter Eleven

Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione. Neither of them seemed to have understood what Xenophilius had said, either. Sarah and Draco on the other hand, were looking sceptically at Xenophilius.

“The Deathly Hallows?” repeated Harry.

“That’s right,” said Xenophilius. “You haven’t heard of them? I’m not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at your brother’s wedding,” he nodded at Ron, “who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows – at lease, not that cruse sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest.”

“If you’re talking about Viktor – “ Sarah began angrily.

“But the Deathly Hallows don’t exist,” Draco said quickly, resting a placating hand on Sarah’s knees. “There’s been no proof of them.”

Xenophilius frowned.

“And I expect it was your father who told you that?” he said loftily. “Malfoys have always had a skewed view of what to believe In”

Draco’s expression went thunderous.

“But what _are_ the Deathly Hallows?” asked Hermione.

Xenophilius set aside his empty teacup.

“I assume that you are all familiar with ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’?”

Harry said, “No,” but the others said, “Yes.”

“Well, well, Mr Potter, the whole thing starts with the tale…I have a copy somewhere…”

“We’ll summarise it for him,” Sarah said sharply. “Just explain to us what it has to do with the Deathly Hallows.”

Xenophilius shot her an annoyed look but acquiesced in the face of her unmovable stubbornness. He picked up a quill from a packed table at his elbow and pulled a torn piece of parchment from between more books.

“The Elder Wand,” he said, and he drew a straight vertical line upon the parchment. “The Resurrection Stone,” he said, and he added a circle on top of the line. “The Cloak of Invisibility,” he finished, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle, to make the symbol that so intrigued them. “Together,” he said, “the Deathly Hallows.”

“But there’s no mention of the words ‘Deathly Hallows’ in the story,” said Hermione.

“Well, of course not,” said Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. “That is a children’s tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognise that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death.”

There was a short silence in which Xenophilius glanced out of the window. Already the sun was low in the sky. Poor Harry looked extremely confused but was wisely staying silent.

“Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon,” he said quietly.

“When you say ‘master of Death’ – “ said Ron.

“Master,” said Xenophilius, waving an airy hand. “Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer.”

“But then…do you mean…” said Hermione slowly, and Sarah could tell that she was trying to keep any trace of scepticism out of her voice, “that you believe these objects – these Hallows – actually exist?”

Xenophilius raised his eyebrows again.

“Well, of course.”

“But,” said Hermione, and Sarah could hear her restraint starting to crack, “Mr Lovegood, how can you _possibly_ believe - ?”

“Luna has told me all about you, young lady,” said Xenophilius, “you are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded.”

It looked like Hermione had just joined the club of people Xenophilius had offended in the last five minutes.

“Mr Lovegood,” Draco said evenly. “We all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are rare, but they exist. But – “

“Ah, but the Third Hallow is a _true_ cloak of invisibility, Mr Malfoy! I mean to say, it is not a travelling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks you have ever seen like _that_ , Mr Malfoy?”

Draco snapped his mouth shut and Sarah fought against the urge to smirk. She glanced at Harry and Ron and saw them struggling too. It so happened that a cloak exactly like the one Xenophilius had just described was in the room with them at that very moment.

“Exactly,” said Xenophilius, as if he had defeated them all in reasoned argument. “None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?”

“That could just be unrelated,” Sarah muttered under her breath. Harry pinched her arm hard.

“All right,” said Harry. “Say the Cloak existed…what about the stone and the wand?”

“The Elder Wand is the Hallow that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand,” Xenophilius replied. “The Stone less so.”

“How does the wand pass hand to hand?” Harry asked.

“The possessor the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master of it,” said Xenophilius. “Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Barnabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of wizarding history.”

Harry frowned and looked between Draco, Hermione and Sarah, but none of them contradicted Xenophilius.

“So where do you think the Elder Wand is now?” asked Ron.

“Alas, who knows?” said Xenophilius, as he gazed out of the window. “Who knows where the Elder Wand lies hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us.”

There was a pause. Finally Sarah asked stiffly, “Mr Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?”

Xenophilius looked taken aback.

“But you have been misleading me, young woman!” said Xenophilius, now sitting up much straighter in his chair and goggling at Sarah. “I thought you were new to the Hallows Quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Peverells have everything – _everything!_ – to do with the Hallows!”

“Wonderful,” Sarah muttered dryly.

“Who are the Peverells?” asked Ron.

“That was the name on the grave with the mark on it, in Godric’s Hollow,” said Draco. “Ignotus Peverell.”

“Exactly!” said Xenophilius, his forefinger raised pedantically. “The sign of the Deathly Hallows on Ignotus’s grave is conclusive proof!”

“Of what?” asked Ron.

“Why, that the three brothers in the story were actually the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus! That they were the original owners of the Hallows!”

With another glance at the window, he got to his feet, picked up the tray and headed for the spiral staircase.

“You will stay for dinner?” he called, as he vanished downstairs again. “Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy soup.”

“Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St Mungo’s,” said Ron under his breath.

Harry waited until they could hear Xenophilius moving about in the kitchen downstairs before speaking.

“What do you think?” he asked them.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said wearily, “it’s a pile of utter rubbish. This can’t be what the sign really means. This must just be his weird take on it. What a waste of time.”

“Well…” Draco said hesitantly. “His story does match the one Sarah and I were told as children.”

“Except it was always meant to be a lesson, not proof that the Hallows actually exist,” Sarah added quickly at Hermione’s scoff. “It’s just a morality tale, it’s obvious which gift is best, which one you’d choose – “

The five of them spoke at the same time; Hermione, Draco and Sarah said, “the Cloak,” Ron said, “the wand,” and Harry said, “the stone.”

They looked at each other, half-surprised, half-amused.

“You’re _supposed_ to say the Cloak,” Ron told Hermione, Sarah and Draco, “but you wouldn’t need to be invisible if you had the wand. _An unbeatable wand,_ guys, come on!”

“We’ve already got an Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry.

“And it’s helped us rather a lot, in case you hadn’t noticed!” said Hermione. “Whereas the wand would be bound to attract trouble…”

Sarah zoned the four of them out as they continued to argue about which Hallow as the best. She moved around the room, only half-listening. Reaching the spiral stair, she raised her eyes absently to the next level and was distracted at once. Harry’s face was looking back at her from the ceiling of the room above.

After a moment’s bewilderment, she realised it was a painting. Curious, she began to climb the stairs.

“Sarah, what are you doing? I don’t think we should look around when he’s not here!”

But Sarah had already reached the next level.

Luna had decorated her bedroom ceiling with seven beautifully painted faces: Harry, Sarah, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville. They were not moving as the portraits at Hogwarts moved, but there was a certain magic about them all the same. What appeared to be fine golden chains wove around the pictures, linking them together, but after examining them for a minute or so, Sarah realised that the chains were actually one word, repeated a thousand times in golden ink: _friends…friends…friends…_

Sarah felt a great rush of affection for Luna. She looked around the room. There was a large photograph beside the bed, of a young Luna and a woman who looked very like her. They were hugging. Luna looked rather better-groomed in this picture than Sarah had ever seen her in life. The picture was dusty. This struck Sarah as slightly odd. She stared around.

Something was wrong. The pale blue carpet was also thick with dust. There were no clothes in the wardrobe, whose doors stood ajar. The bed had a cold, unfriendly look, as though it had not bee slept in for weeks. A single cobweb stretched over the nearest window, across a blood-red sky.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, as Sarah descended the staircase, but before she could respond, Xenophilius reached the top of the stairs from the kitchen, now holding a tray laden with bowls.

“Mr Lovegood,” said Sarah. “Where’s Luna?”

“Excuse me?”

“Where’s Luna?”

Xenophilius halted on the top step.

“I – I’ve already told you. She is down at Bottom Bridge, fishing for Plimpies.”

“So why have you only laid that tray for four?”

Xenophilius tried to speak, but no sound out. The only noise was the continued chugging of the printing press, and a slight rattle from the tray as Xenophilius’s hands shook.

“I don’t think Luna’s been here for weeks,” said Sarah. “Her clothes are gone, her bed hasn’t been slept in. Where is she? And why do you keep looking out of the window?”

Xenophilius dropped the tray: the bowls bounced and smashed. Sarah, Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione drew their wands: Xenophilius froze, his hand about to enter his pocket. At that moment, the printing press gave a huge bang and numerous _Quibblers_ cam streaming across the floor from underneath the tablecloth; the press fell silent at last.

Hermione stooped down and picked up one of the magazines, her wand still pointing at Mr Lovegood.

“Look at this.”

She held the magazine up so they could see. Harry’s face was on the front cover, emblazoned with the words _Undesirable Number One_ , and captioned with the reward money.

“ _The Quibbler’s_ going for a new angle, then?” Harry asked coldly. “Is that what you were doing when you went into the garden, Mr Lovegood? Sending an owl to the Ministry?”

Xenophilius licked his lips.

“They took my Luna,” he whispered. “Because of what I’ve been writing. They took my Luna and I don’t know where she is, what they’ve done to her. But they might give her back to me if I – if I – “

“Hand over Harry?” Hermione finished for him.

“No deal,” said Draco flatly. “Get out of the way, we’re leaving.”

Xenophilius looked ghastly, a century old, his lips drawn back into a dreadful leer.

“They will be here at any moment. I must save Luna. I cannot lose Luna. You must not leave.”

He spread his arms in front of the staircase.

“Don’t make us hurt you,” Sarah warned. “Get out of the way, Mr Lovegood.”

“HARRY!” Hermione screamed.

Figures on broomsticks were flying past the windows. As the five of them looked away from him, Xenophilius drew his wand. Sarah realised their mistake just in time: she launched herself sideways, shoving Draco and Harry out of harm’s way, Ron doing the same for Hermione, as Xenophilius’s Stunning Spell soared across the room and hit the Erumpent Horn.

There was a colossal explosion. The sound of it seemed to blow the room apart: fragments of wood and paper and rubble flew in all directions, along with an impenetrable cloud of thick, white dust. Sarah flew threw the air, then crashed to the floor, unable to see as debris rained upon her, her arms over her head. she heard Hermione’s scream, Draco’s yell and a series of sicking metallic thuds, which told her that Xenophilius had been blasted off his feet and fallen backwards down the spiral stairs.

Half-buried in rubble, Sarah tried to raise herself; she could barely breathe or see for dust. Half of the ceiling had fallen in and the end of Luna’s bed was hanging through the hole. The bust of Rowena Ravenclaw lay beside her with half its face missing, fragments of torn parchment were floating through the air and most of the printing press lay on its side, blocking the top of the staircase to the kitchen. Then another white shape moved close by and Harry, coated in dust like a second statue, pressed his finger to his lips. He leant down and helped Sarah out from the rubble as quietly as he could. The other three were huddled nearby, each as dirty as the other.

The door downstairs crashed open.

“Didn’t I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?” said a rough voice. “Didn’t I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?”

There was a bang and scream of pain from Xenophilius.

“No…no…upstairs…Potter!”

“I told you last week, Lovegood, we weren’t coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before – “ another bang, another squeal “ – when you thought we’d give her back if you offered us proof there are Crumple – “ _bang_ “ – Headed – “ _bang_ “ – Snoracks?”

“No – no – I beg you!” sobbed Xenophilius. “It really is Potter! Really!”

“And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!” roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.

“The places looked like it’s about to fall in, Selwyn,” said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. “The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down.”

“You lying piece of filth,” shouted the wizard named Selwyn. “You’ve never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you’d lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you’ll get your girl back like this?”

“I swear…I swear…Potter’s upstairs!”

“ _Homenum revelio,”_ said the voice at the foot of the stairs.

Sarah heard Hermione gaps, and she had the odd sensation that something was swooping low over her, immersing her body in its shadow.

“There’s someone up there all right, Selwyn,” said the other man sharply.

“It’s Potter, I tell you, it’s Potter!” sobbed Xenophilius. “Please…please…give me Luna, just let me have Luna…”

“You can have your little girl, Lovegood,” said Selwyn, “if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it’s a trick, if you’ve got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we’ll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury.”

Xenophilius gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings. Xenophilius was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.

“Come on,” Harry whispered, “we’ve got to get out of here.”

They crept over to the others.

“All right,” breathed Sarah, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs began to tremble; Xenophilius was feet away from them. “Do you trust me, Harry?”

Harry nodded.

“Okay, then,” Sarah whispered, “give me the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, Hermione, Draco, you’re going to put it on.”

“Us? But Harry – “

“ _Please, Ron_! Hold onto my shoulders. Harry, hold tight to my hand.”

Harry held out his left hand. The other three vanished beneath the Cloak. The printing press blocking the stairs was vibrating: Xenophilius was trying to shift it using a Hover Charm.

“Hold tight,” Sarah whispered. “Hold tight…any second…”

Xenophilius’s paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.

“ _Obliviate!”_ cried Sarah, pointing her wand first into his face, then at the floor beneath them, “ _Deprimo!”_

She had blasted a hole in the sitting-room floor. They fell like boulders, everyone still holding on tight to her. There was a scream from below and she glimpsed two men trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattered ceiling. Sarah twisted in midair and the thundering of the collapsing house rang in her ears as she dragged them all once more into darkness.

***

Sarah fell, groaning, on to grass and scrambled up at once. Immediately, the blood rushed from her head and she stumbled, falling into an invisible body. They had landed in the corner of a field at dusk; a field which Sarah’s mother had taken her and Draco years ago. Hermione threw the Invisibility Cloak off her, Ron and Draco and began running in a circle around them, waving her wand.

“ _Protego totalum…Salvio hexia…_ ”

Draco joined her as Ron continued to steady Sarah until her head stopped spinning.

“That treacherous old bleeder!” he panted. “Sarah, you’re a genius, a total genius, I can’t believe we got out of that!”

“Thanks,” she muttered weakly.

“ _Cave Inimicum_ …didn’t I _say_ it was an Erumpent horn? Didn’t I tell him? And now his house has been blown apart!” Hermione ranted.

“Serves him right,” grumbled Draco, looking down at his torn jeans and the cuts to his legs. “What do you think they will do to him?”

“I hope they don’t kill him after all the effort I went to ensure the Death Eaters got a glimpse of Harry before we left,” Sarah said, lowering herself to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked her.

“Apparating five people while falling through the air isn’t as easy as one thinks,” murmured Sarah. “I’m sure the world will return to its motionless self soon.”

Draco snorted a few metres away.

“Why hide us, though?” asked Ron.

“You’re supposed to be in bed with spattergroit, Ron. They’ve kidnapped Luna because her father supported Harry! What would happen to your family if they knew you’re with him?” Sarah stated. “It wasn’t worth the risk. It was also just safer for Draco and ‘Mione to be under the Cloak as well.”

“What about you, though?” Ron pressed.

“All my family is dead or in hiding,” she replied evenly. “And surprisingly enough, not too many outsiders knew I was dating Fred, so he and George should still be safe in their shop.”

“You’re a genius,” Ron repeated.

“Yeah, you are, Sarah,” agreed Harry fervently, “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“I’m sure Hermione and Draco would keep you alive,” she said dryly.

“What about Luna?” Draco said suddenly, in a solemn voice.

“Well, if they’re telling the truth and she’s still alive – “ began Sarah.

“Don’t say that, don’t say it!” squealed Hermione. “She must be alive, she must!”

“Then she’ll be somewhere they can constantly watch her,” finished Sarah. “Whether she survives now…” She scowled at the grass in front of her.

“She will,” said Harry. “She’s tough, Luna, much tougher than we think. She’s probably teaching everyone about Wrackspurts and Nargles.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Sarah. She pressed a hand over her eyes. “I’d feel so sorry for Xenophilius if – “

“- if he hadn’t just tried to sell us to the Death Eaters, yeah,” drawled Draco.

“Exactly, darling,” Sarah agreed. “Such horrid hospitality, I say.”

They put up the tent and retreated inside it, where Ron made them tea. After their narrow escape, the chill, musty old place felt like home, safe, familiar and friendly.

“Oh, why did we go there?” groaned Hermione after a few minutes’ silence. “Harry, you were right, it was Godric’s Hollow all over again, a complete waste of time! The Deathly Hallows…such rubbish…although actually,” a sudden thought seemed to have struck her, “he might have made it all up, mightn’t he? He probably doesn’t believe in the Deathly Hallows at all, he just wanted to keep us talking until the Death Eaters arrived!”

“I don’t think so,” said Ron. “It’s a damn right harder making stuff up when you’re under stress than you’d think. I found that out when the Snatchers caught me. It was much easier pretending to be Stan, because I knew a bit about him, then inventing a whole new person. Old Lovegood was under loads of pressure, trying to make sure we stayed put. I reckon he told us the truth, or what he thinks is the truth, just to keep us talking.”

“I still don’t really know what you’re talking about,” stated Harry. Draco sighed and quickly summarised the story about how three brothers met Death and, when they failed to drown in His river, were given gifts by him.

“The legend of the Hallows is true,” Sarah said. “Mother and Narcissa used to tell it to Draco and me all the time as children. Draco, didn’t your great-uncle get lost looking for them?”

Draco nodded. “Great-Uncle Tiberius,” he said. “He was positive that he knew where the Elder Wand was. Apparently a friend of his witnessed someone win it.”

“The Tale of the Three Brothers is a story,” said Hermione firmly. “A story about how humans are frightened of death. If surviving was simple as hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, we’d have everything we need already

“It’s odd that we haven’t heard of any Invisibility Cloaks like Harry’s,” Draco commented mildly. “And it’s not like its an unreasonable assumption for it to be a Hallow, I mean, his family can be traced back to the Peverells.”

Hermione, Ron and Harry stared at him in silent shock.

“What?” Draco said, looking around at them. “It’s in all the genealogy books. The Potters are direct descendants of Ignotus Peverell. He was quite a famous Potioneer, that’s why Harry’s family started creating potions.”

“How do you know this?” Harry gasped. “Why don’t _I_ know this!”

“Eleven years of pureblood history,” Sarah stated calmly. “All the major families, no matter if they’re the sacred twenty-eight or not, are taught in lessons by private tutors until Hogwarts. It’s to ensure that all those part of the sacred twenty-eight know who to form alliances with and who isn’t worth their time.”

“But,” Draco said, getting back to the point, “just because we know that Harry got his Cloak from Ignotus Peverell doesn’t actually mean it’s a Hallow. There’s a very good chance that Ignotus was simply a skilled wizard who created something unheard of.”

“We could do with an unbeatable wand,” said Harry, turning the borrowed blackthorn wand he hated over in his fingers.

“There’s no such thing, Harry!” exclaimed Hermione.

“You said there have been loads of wands – the Deathstick and whatever they were called – “ Harry noted.

“All right, even if you want to kid yourself the Elder Wand’s real, and maybe, _maybe_ the Cloak, what about the Resurrection Stone?” Hermione’s fingers sketched quotation marks around the name, and her tone dripped sarcasm. “No magic can raise the dead, and that’s that!”

“When my wand connected with You-Know-Who’s, it made my mum and dad appear…and Cedric…”

“But they weren’t really back from the dead,” Sarah said softly. “They were just shades of the real people.”

“But she, the girl in the tale, didn’t really come back, did she? The story says that once people are dead, they belong with the dead. But the second brother still got to see her and talk to her, didn’t he? He even lived with her for a while…”

Sarah and Draco exchanged concerned glances. Draco moved to sit beside Harry, grasping his boyfriend’s hands in his own.

“Harry, you shouldn’t think about things like that,” he said softly. “There is no power to bring the dead back.”

Harry shook his head.

“Yeah – I know that – “ he said hastily. “So, what else do we know about the Peverells?”

Sarah eyed him warily but picked up the change of topic.

“They were one of the earliest families to go extinct in the male line. Their descendants had different names through their mothers,” she explained.

“Marvolo Gaunt!” Harry exclaimed suddenly, causing them all to jump.

“Sorry?” Sarah and the others said together.

“ _Marvolo Gaunt!_ You-Know-Who’s grandfather! In the Pensieve! With Dumbledore! Marvolo Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!” Harry said excitedly.

Sarah saw her bewildered expression reflected on Ron, Hermione and Draco’s faces.

“The ring, the ring that became the Horcrux, Marvolo Gaunt said it had the Peverell coat of arms on it! I saw him waving it in the bloke from the Ministry’s face, he nearly shoved it up his nose!”

“The Peverell coat of arms?” said Hermione sharply. “Could you see what it looked like?”

“Not really,” said Harry. “There was nothing fancy on there, as far as I could see; maybe a few scratches. I only ever saw it really close up after it had been cracked open.”

Admittedly, Sarah was struggling to remember all the details Harry had told them about his lessons with Dumbledore the previous year. Ron, however, didn’t seem to be having the same problem.

“Blimey…you reckon it was this sign again? The sign of the Hallows?”

“Why not?” said Harry excitedly. “Marvolo Gaunt was an ignorant old git who lived like a pig, all he cared about was his ancestry. If that ring had been passed down through the centuries, he might not have known what it really was. There were no books in that house, and trust me, he wasn’t the type to read fairy tales to his kids. He’d have loved to think the scratches on the stone were a coat of arms, because as far as he was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal.”

“Yes…and that’s all very interesting,” said Draco cautiously, “but Harry, if you’re thinking what I think you’re think – “

“Well, why not? _Why not?”_ said Harry, interrupting him. “it was a stone, wasn’t it?” He looked at Ron for apparent support. “What if it was the Resurrection Stone?”

Ron’s mouth fell open. “Blimey – but would it still work if Dumbledore broke – “

“Work? _Work_? Ron, it never worked! _There’s no such thing as the Resurrection Stone!”_ Hermione had leapt to her feet, looking exasperated and angry. “Harry, you’re trying to fit everything into the Hallows story – “

“ _Fit everything in_?” he repeated. “Hermione, it fits of its own accord! I know the sign of the Deathly Hallows was on that stone! Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!”

“A minute ago you told us you never saw the mark on the stone properly!”

“Where do you reckon the ring is not?” Sarah said quickly, cutting off Harry’s angry retort. “What did Dumbledore do with it after he broke it open?”

But Harry didn’t answer her. He was staring off into space and didn’t even register the hand the Draco waved in front of his face.

“I think he’s broken,” Draco stated. He let out a started sound as Harry suddenly jumped to his feet and raced to his rucksack.

“IT’S IN HERE! He left me the ring – it’s in the Snitch!” Harry was holding the Snitch that Dumbledore had willed to him above his head, the firelight glinting off the gold.

“Harry…” Sarah said weakly. “Don’t you think you may be grasping at straws - ?”

“Think about it,” he said strongly. “Dumbledore had my dad’s Cloak the night my parents died. Why would he need it? He could perform a Disillusionment Charm so powerful he could make himself completely invisible. He wanted to examine it because he thought it was the third Hallow! Ignotus Peverell is buried in Godric’s Hollow – he probably made the connection that my family was descended from him! And then when he realised what the ring was, he left me the Stone!”

“Okay…” Draco said slowly, ignoring Hermione’s outraged huff. “Let’s say for a moment that it exists – “

“It _does_ exist!” Harry interrupted.

Draco levelled a stern look at Harry, who quickly shut up.

“Let’s say the Hallows are real,” Draco continued. “And somehow, you have the Cloak and the Stone. The real question is why Dumbledore would leave you them. I know that the Cloak was your father’s but why the Stone?”

“No idea!” Harry gasped. “Maybe he thought I’d need it later or maybe he just didn’t want – “

He suddenly cut off, his green eyes going wide.

“That’s what he’s after.”

The change in his voice sent a shiver down Sarah’s spine.

“You-Know-Who’s after the Elder Wand.”

They all stared at Harry in silence for a few heartbeats, none of them knowing what to say. Finally, Sarah shook her head and asked, “You think Gregorovitch had the Wand?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically.

“That’s why he went looking for him,” he said. “And now he knows that Grindelwald stole it. He needs to find Grindelwald.”

“Grindelwald’s in prison,” Draco said. “He’s not exactly hard to find.”

“Harry,” said Hermione beseechingly, “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got this wrong, all wrong.”

“But don’t you see? It all fits – “

“No, it doesn’t,” she said. “It _doesn’t_. Harry, you’re just getting carried away. Please,” she said, as he started to speak, “please just answer me this. If the Deathly Hallows really existed, and Dumbledore knew about them, knew that the person who possessed all three of them would be master of Death – Harry, why wouldn’t he have told you? Why?”

“To be fair, Dumbledore didn’t really tell Harry anything,” muttered Sarah.

“But you said it, Hermione! You’ve got to find out about them for yourself! It’s a Quest!” Harry said, ignoring Sarah.

“But I only said that to try and persuade you to come to the Lovegoods!” cried Hermione in exasperation. “I didn’t really believe it!”

“Dumbledore usually let me find out stuff for myself. He let me try my strength, take risks. This feels like the kind of thing he’d do.” Harry paced around, staring at the Snitch in his hands.

“Harry, this isn’t a game, this isn’t practice! This is the real thing, and Dumbledore left you very clear instructions: find and destroy the Horcruxes! That symbol doesn’t mean anything, forget the Deathly Hallows, we can’t afford to get side-tracked – “

Harry was barely listening to Hermione.

She appealed to Ron, Sarah and Draco.

“You don’t believe in this, do you?”

“I dunno…I mean…bit of it sort of fit together,” said Ron awkwardly. “But when you look at the whole thing…” He took a deep breath. “I think we’re supposed to get rid of Horcruxes, Harry. That’s what Dumbledore told us to do. Maybe…maybe we should forget about this Hallows business.”

“Thank you, Ron,” said Hermione. “I’ll take first watch.”

And she strode past them all and sat down in the tent entrance, turning the action into a fierce full stop. Harry turned to Draco.

“You believe me, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

Draco hesitated for a moment and grabbed Harry’s hand to pull him down in the seat beside him. Sarah took that as her cue to leave and she dragged Ron away with her as the couple spoke softly to each other.

“So, are you talking to me now?” Ron asked her as she began making tea loudly in the small kitchen.

Sarah scoffed. “You’re not forgiven,” she said, not answering the question. “I still think you treated Hermione horribly and deserve to be punished. We just can’t afford to let personal feelings get between us right now. It’s only going to get worse from here.”

“Wow, that was morbid,” he muttered, accepting the cup she handed him.

Sarah rolled her eyes at him. “Not all of us are eternally optimistic Gryffindors. Some of us are realists.”

“Pessimists,” he corrected, smirking slightly. “Don’t be afraid of the truth.”

“And now I’m going back to ignoring you,” she declared, flicking her wand and making the other three cups of tea zoom to their designated recipient.

“Before you do,” Ron said, following her to the bunks, “will you help me try to figure out the password for _Potterwatch_?”

She sighed heavily but didn’t shoo him away. They settled cross-legged on the bottom bunk and Sarah hugged a pillow to her chest.

“That has got to be the most ridiculous name for that,” she drawled. “The people running it couldn’t come up with anything better?”

Ron smirked at her, blue eyes twinkling and she frowned in return, feeling as though he wasn’t telling her something.

“You’ll understand when you hear it,” he said in a sure tone. “If we can guess the password.”

They spent the next hour or so tapping Ron’s small wireless with their hands, muttering random words in hopes of getting one right. Occasionally they would catch snatches of advice on how to treat dragon pox, and once, a few bars of ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love’.

“They’re normally something to do with the Order,” Ron told her. “Bill had a real knack for guessing them. We’re bound to get on in the end…”

It wasn’t for another two hours until they got lucky. Sarah threw out the random guess of ‘Albus’, sure it was too obvious when the static suddenly stopped and a clear voice emitted from the wireless.

“You did it!” Ron shouted. “Oi! Guys, we got the password!”

The pair of them scrambled off the bed and raced to the couch, where Draco and Harry had fallen asleep curled around each other. They startled awake at Ron’s yell and Hermione darted back inside quickly.

Ron placed the radio on the floor beneath them and they all stared in barely contained shock and glee at the familiar voice.

“…apologises for our temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house-calls in our area by those charming Death Eaters.”

“But that’s Lee Jordan!” said Sarah.

“I know!” beamed Ron. “Cool, eh?”

“…now found ourselves another secure location,” Lee was saying, “and I’m pleased to tell you that two of our regular contributors have joined me here this evening. Evening, boys!”

“Hi.”

“Evening, River.”

“’River’, that’s Lee,” Ron explained. “They’ve all got code names, but you can usually tell – “

“Shh!” said Sarah.

“But before we heard from Royal and Romulus,” Lee went on, “let’s take a moment to report those deaths that the _Wizarding Wireless Network News_ and the _Daily Prophet_ don’t think important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell.”

Sarah felt a sick swooping in her belly. She grabbed Draco’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Poor Aunt Andromeda,” he said quietly.

“A goblin by the name of Gornuk was also killed. It is believed that Muggleborn Dean Thomas and a second goblin, both believed to be travelling with Tonks, Cresswell and Gornuk, may have escaped. If Dean is listening, or if anyone has any knowledge of his whereabouts, his parents and sisters are desperate for news.”

Hermione let out a harsh exhale.

“Meanwhile, in Gaddley, a Muggle family of five has been found dead in their home. Muggle authorities are attributing the deaths to a gas leak, but members of the Order of the Phoenix inform me that it was the Killing Curse – more evidence, as if it were needed, of the fact that Muggle slaughter is becoming little more than a recreational sport under the new regime.” Lee paused for a moment before continuing, “Finally, we regret to inform our listeners that the remains of Bathilda Bagshot have been discovered in Godric’s Hollow. The evidence is that she died several months ago. The Order of the Phoenix informs us that her body showed unmistakable signs of injuries inflicted by Dark Magic.”

“The Order was there after us,” Hermione breathed.

“Listeners, I’d like to invite you now to join us in a minute’s silence in memory of Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, Bathilda Bagshot, Gornuk and the unnamed, but no less regretted, Muggles murdered by the Death Eaters.”

Silence fell and none of them spoke. Half of Sarah yearned to hear more, half of her was afraid of what might come next. It was the first time she had felt fully connected to the outside world for a long time.

“Thank you,” said Lee’s voice. “And now we turn to regular contributor, Royal, for an update on how the new wizarding order is affecting the Muggle world.”

“Thanks, River,” said an unmistakable voice, deep, measured, reassuring.

“Kingsley!” burst out Ron.

“We know!” said Draco, hushing him.

“Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties,” said Kingsley. “However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbours, often without the Muggles’ knowledge. I’d like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street. Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken.”

“And what would you say, Royal, to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be ‘wizard’s first’?” asked Lee.

“I’d say that it’s one short step from ‘wizard’s first’ to ‘purebloods first’, and then to ‘Death Eaters’,” replied Kingsley. “We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.”

“Excellently put, Royal, and you’ve got my vote for Minister of Magic if we ever get out of this mess,” said Lee. “And now, over to Romulus for our popular feature: Pals of Potter.”

“Thanks, River,” said another very familiar voice. Sarah’s grip on Draco’s hand tightened significantly as Hermione forestalled Ron’s comment.

“ _We know it’s Remus_!”

“Romulus, do you maintain, as you have every time you’ve appeared on our programme, that Harry Potter is still alive?”

“I do,” said Remus firmly. “There is no doubt at all in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. The “Boy Who Lived” remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting.”

Sarah felt tears prick her eyes at Remus’s words.

“And what would you say to Harry if you knew he was listening, Romulus?”

“I’d tell him we’re all with him in spirit,” said Remus, then hesitated slightly. “And I’d tell him to trust his friends. They are the strongest allies he has with him.”

“Is that in reference to the reports that Harry isn’t working alone?” Lee asked.

“I know that whoever he’s with will protect him with their lives,” Remus said. “It takes a great deal of loyalty to stay with those you love.”

The tears started to fall from Sarah’s eyes as she thought back to the last time they had seen Remus.

“Tonks is living with him and Sirius now,” Ron said quietly. “She’s apparently getting pretty big too.”

“…and our usual update on those friends of Harry Potter’s who are suffering for their allegiance?” Lee was saying.

“Well, as regular listeners will know, several of the more outspoken supporters of Harry Potter have now been imprisoned, including Xenophilius Lovegood, erstwhile editor of _The Quibbler_ – “ said Remus.”

“At least he’s still alive!” muttered Ron.

“We have also heard within the last few hours that Rubeus Hagrid – “ all five of them gasped, and so nearly missed the rest of the sentence “ – well-known gamekeeper at Hogwarts School, has narrowly escaped arrest within the grounds of Hogwarts, where he is rumoured to have hosted a ‘Support Harry Potter’ party in his house. However, Hagrid was not taken into custody, and is, we believe, on the run.”

“I suppose it helps, when escaping from Death Eaters, if you’ve got a sixteen-foot-high half-brother?” asked Lee.

“It would tend to give you an edge,” agreed Remus gravely. “May I just add that while we here at _Potterwatch_ applaud Hagrid’s spirit, we would urge even the most devoted of Harry’s supporters against following Hagrid’s lead. ‘Support Harry Potter’ parties are unwise in the present climate.”

“Indeed they are, Romulus,” said Lee, “so we suggest that you continue to show your devotion to the man with the lightening scar by listening to _Potterwatch!_ And now let’s move to news concerning the wizard who is proving just as elusive as Harry Potter. We like to refer to him as the Chief Death Eater, and here to give his views on some of the more insane rumours circulating about him, I’d like to introduce our new correspondent: Rodent.”

“’ _Rodent_ ’?” said yet another familiar voice. Sarah felt her heart stop in her chest as the other cried out, “Fred!”

“No – is it George?”

“It’s Fred,” Sarah said tearfully, and they all glanced at her. She brushed away the tears and turned the radio up as loud as it can go, not wanting to miss a moment of her boyfriend speaking.

“I’m not being ‘Rodent’,” Fred was saying. “No way, I told you I wanted to be ‘Rapier’!”

“Oh, all right then. ‘Rapier’, could you please give us your take on the various stories we’ve been hearing about the Chief Death Eater?”

“Yes, River, I can,” said Fred. “As our listeners will know, unless they’re taken refuge at the bottom of a garden pond or somewhere similar, You-Know-Who’s strategy of remaining in the shadows is creating a nice little climate of panic. Mind you, if all the alleged sightings of him are genuine, we must have a good nineteen You-Know-Who’s running around the place.”

“Which suits him, of course,” said Kingsley. “The air of mystery is creating more terror than actually showing himself.”

“Agreed,” said Fred. “So, people, let’s try and calm down a bit. Things are bad enough without inventing stuff as well. For instance, this new idea that You-Know-Who can kill with a single glance from his eyes. That’s a _Basilisk_ , listeners. One simple test: check whether the thing that’s glaring at you has got legs. It if has, it’s safe to look into its eyes, although if it really is You-Know-Who, that’s still likely to be the last thing you ever do.”

For the first time in weeks and weeks, Sarah was laughing: she could feel the weight of tension leaving her.

“And the rumours that he keeps being sighted abroad?” asked Lee.

“Well, who wouldn’t want a nice little holiday after all the hard work he’s been putting in?” asked Fred. “Point is, people, don’t get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he’s out of the country. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, but the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so don’t count on him being a long way away if you’re planning on taking any risks. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, and if my girlfriend were here she’d probably test me to make sure I’m not ill, but safety first!”

“Thank you very much for those wise words, Rapier,” said Lee. “Listeners, that brings us to the end of another _Potterwatch_. We don’t know when it will be possible to broadcast again, but you can be sure we shall be back. Keep twiddling those dials: the next password will be ‘Mad-Eye’. Keep each other safe: keep faith. Goodnight.”

The radio’s dial twirled and the lights behind the tuning panel went out. Everyone was beaming at each other. Hearing familiar, friendly voices was an extraordinary tonic, but it still didn’t stop Sarah from feeling a heart-wrenching sense of loss as Fred’s voice disappeared as quickly as it came.

She stood up as the others began chatting about the show. Gripping her bag tightly to her chest, she sat on the bunk and resisted the urge to rummage for the notebook she knew was buried right at the bottom of it. She had removed the charm that allowed her and Fred to communicate through it but she hadn’t had the heart to leave it behind.

She only turned back into the conversation when she heard Harry say, “Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol – “

“HARRY, NO!”

“ – demort’s after the Elder Wand!”

“The name’s Taboo!” Ron bellowed, leaping to his feet as a loud _crack_ sounded outside the tent. “I told you, Harry, I told you, we can’t say it any more – we’ve got to put the protection back around us – quickly – it’s how they find – “

But Ron stopped talking, and Sarah knew why. The Sneakoscope on the table had lit up and begun to spin; they could hear voices coming nearer and nearer: rough, excited voices. Ron pulled the Deluminator out of his pocket and clicked it: their lamps went out.

“Come out of there with your hands up!” came a rasping voice through the darkness. “We know you’re in there! You’ve got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don’t care who we curse!”


	12. Chapter Twelve

Sarah didn’t think. She drew her wand and cast rapid-fire spells at Draco and Harry before shrinking her bag and stuffing it in her shoe. Heavy footfalls sounded at the entrance. 

“Come here, vermin.”

Unknown hands dragged Sarah roughly outside. Before she could stop them, someone had snatched her wand out of her hand. She grunted in pain as the same person punched her in the stomach. From the corner of her eye, she saw her friends in similar positions of restraint.

“Get – off – her!” Draco shouted. There was the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Draco grunted in pain and Sarah screamed, “No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!”

“Your boyfriend’s going to have worse than that done to him if he’s on my list,” said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. “Delicious girl…what a treat…I do enjoy the softness of the skin…”

Sarah’s stomach turned over. Fenrir Greyback had stalked up behind her and was running one long fingernail across her cheek. The stench of his breath nearly made her gag.

“Search the tent!” said another voice.

Draco, Ron and Harry were all thrown down on the ground while Hermione and Sarah were kept in the grubby hands of the men. Sarah felt relieved that her last-minute spells had worked: Draco and Harry both had different features than usual, making them nearly unrecognisable. It would only take someone who knew them well to be able to identify them.

“Now, let’s see who we’ve got,” said Greyback’s gloating voice from above, and Sarah’s head was pulled back by her hair. A beam of wandlight fell onto her face and Greyback laughed.

“You’re a pretty little one aren’t you?” he sneered. “What’s your name?”

Sarah did not answer immediately.

Greyback pressed a hand high on her ribs, his claw-like fingernails biting through her jumper.

“I _said_ ,” repeated Greyback, “what’s your name?”

“Cecelia Francois,” Sarah said, putting on a slight French accent. It was the name of one of her very distant cousins.

“What’s your blood status?” Greyback demanded. Across from them, the others were going through the same questioning. Sarah nearly groaned in horror when Harry answered, “Vernon Dudley.”

“Pureblood,” she said, turning her attention back to Greyback.

“Is that so?” he snarled. “Why you hanging around with these blood-traitors, then, huh?”

Sarah glanced quickly at Draco before saying loudly, “My boyfriend and I bumped into them yesterday. We don’t know who they are.”

“And what exactly were your boyfriend and you doing out in these woods all alone?” inquired Greyback.

“I’m a half-blood,” gasped Draco from the ground. “Cecelia decided to come with me.”

Greyback tutted and sneered at them. “Not your finest choice, pretty one. Add that to you using the Dark Lord’s name and something doesn’t quite add up…” He tapped a dirty finger to Sarah’s cheek as the others were hauled to their feet. “We’ll take ‘em to the Ministry. I reckon we’ll get a good price for the girls. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!”

Greyback let go of Sarah’s hair only for her to be yanked by someone else, who dragged her a short way, pushed her down into a sitting position, and then started binding her back-to-back with other people. Sarah heard Harry whisper to everyone.

“Anyone still got a wand?”

“No,” she said, and Ron, Hermione and Draco echoed her.

“This is all my fault. I said the name, I’m sorry – “

“Harry?”

It was a new but familiar voice and it came from directly behind Sarah, from the person tied to Hermione’s left.

“ _Dean?”_ Sarah whispered.

“Sarah?” he said. “It _is_ you! If they find out who they’ve got – !” They’re Snatchers, they’re only looking for truants to sell for gold – “

“Not a bad little haul for one night,” Greyback was saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots marched close by Sarah and they heard more crashes from inside the tent. “A Mudblood, a runaway goblin and five truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?” he roared.

“Yeah. There’s no Vernon Dudley on ‘ere, Greyback.”

“Interesting,” said Greyback. “That’s interesting.”

He crouched down beside Harry, his face covered in matted, grey hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores at the corners of his mouth.

“So you aren’t wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What house were you in at Hogwarts?”

“Slytherin,” said Harry automatically.

“Funny ‘ow they all thinks we want to ‘ear that,” jeered Scabior out of the shadows. “But none of ‘em can tell us where the common room is.”

Sarah smirked to herself as Harry said clearly, “It’s in the dungeons. You enter through the wall. It’s full of skulls and leather furniture and it’s under the lake, so the light’s all green.”

There was a short pause.

“Well, well, looks like we really ‘ave caught a little Slytherin,” said Scabior. “Good for you, Vernon, ‘cause there ain’t a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who’s your father?”

“He works at the Ministry,” Harry lied. “Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.”

“Well, well,” said Greyback, and Sarah could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry official. “If you’re telling the truth, you’ve got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father’ll reward us just for picking you up.”

“Hey!” came a shout from inside the tent. “Look at this Greyback!”

A dark figure came bustling towards them, and Sarah saw a glint of silver in the light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor’s sword.

“Ve-e-ry nice,” said Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. “Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin made that. Where did you get something like this?”

“It’s my father’s,” Harry responded. “We borrowed it to cut firewood – “

“’Ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the _Prophet_!”

“ _’Ermione Granger_ ,” Scabior was saying, “ _’the Mudblood known to be travelling with ‘Arry Potter’.”_

Greyback’s boots creaked as he crouched down in front of Hermione.

“You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you.”

“It isn’t! It isn’t me!”

“There’s more, Greyback!” continued Scabior. “They’ve also got Sarah Deaumont and Draco Malfoy listed ‘ere. Says they’re good friends of Potter.”

It was Sarah’s turn to get examined by Greyback and it was with a sinking heart that she realised that she hadn’t changed her appearance.

“…’ _known to be travelling with Harry Potter_ ’,” repeated Greyback quietly, still staring at her.

A stillness had settled over the scene. Beside Sarah, Harry was cringing in pain, his face draining of colour.

“Well, this changes things, doesn’t it?” whispered Greyback. He put a finger under Sarah’s chin and raised it slightly. “There’s some people who will pay _a lot_ of money for you.”

Nobody spoke. Greyback got up and moved in front of Harry again, crouching down to stare closely at his altered features.

“What’s that on your forehead, Vernon?” he asked softly as he pressed a filthy finger to Harry’s taut scar.

“Don’t touch it!” Harry yelled, looking sick.

“I thought you wore glasses, Potter?” breathed Greyback.

“I found glasses!” yelped one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. “There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait – “

And seconds later Harry’s glasses had been rammed back on to his face. The Snatchers were closing in, now, peering at him.

“It is!” rasped Greyback. “We’ve caught Potter!”

They all took several steps backwards, stunned by what they had done. Sarah could feel Draco on her other side begin to panic, struggling against the ropes binding him.

“…to the Ministry?”

“To hell with the Ministry,” growled Greyback. “They’ll take the credit, and we won’t get a look in. I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who.”

“Will you summon ‘im? _‘Ere?”_ said Scabior, sounding awed, terrified.

“No,” snarled Greyback, “I haven’t got – they say he’s using the Malfoys’ place as a base. We’ll take the boy there. And if it’s not him, at least we still have the girl – they want her alive.”

Sarah thought she knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort’s inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark: Greyback had not been granted this highest honour.

The prisoners were dragged to their feet. Sarah could hear Hermione’s breathing, fast and terrified.

“Grab hold, and make it tight. I’ll do Potter!” said Greyback, seizing Harry’s hair. Another Snatcher caught Sarah painfully by the arm, stepping closer than necessary as Greyback called out, “On three! One – two – three – “

They Disapparated, pulling the prisoners with them. Sarah struggled, trying to throw off the Snatcher’s hand, but it was hopeless: Draco and Harry were squeezed tightly against her on either side, she could not separate from the group, and the breath was squeezed out of her.

The prisoners lurched into one another as they landed in a familiar country lane. Draco inhaled sharply at the sight of the pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of the long drive. He stepped closer to Sarah, who relished the comfort of his closeness. The worst had not happened yet: Voldemort hadn’t been summoned. But Sarah knew that their hope was lost the minute Lucius or Bellatrix looked at them…

One of the Snatchers strode to the gates and shook them.

“How do we get in? They’re locked, Greyback, I can’t – blimey!”

He whipped his hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice: “State your purpose!”

“We’ve got Potter!” Greyback roared triumphantly. “We’ve captured Harry Potter!”

The gates swung open.

“Come on!” said Greyback to his men, and the prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffled their footsteps. Sarah saw the ghostly white shape of an albino peacock above her and worried for a split second that it would recognise her or Draco; the horrid creatures had always had a vendetta against them.

Light spilt out over all of them.

Sarah looked up at the familiar door and bit back a cry as Narcissa Malfoy appeared before them.

“What is this?” she said coldly.

“We’re here to see He Who Must Not Be Named!” rasped Greyback.

“Who are you?”

“You know me!” There was resentment in the werewolf’s voice, “Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!”

Greyback seized Harry dragged him round to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle round too.

“I know ‘e doesn’t look exactly like ‘im,” piped up Scabior. “But you can see ‘is scar! And this ‘ere, see the girl? That’s the Deaumont girl, who’s been travelling around with ‘im, ma’am. And the Mudblood girl, too.”

Narcissa’s eyes had snapped to Sarah’s at her name but she didn’t say anything. Draco shifted slightly so his face was slightly more visible and Narcissa blinked once.

“Bring them in,” she said.

Sarah and the others were shoved and kicked up the broad stone steps, into the hallway lined with portraits.

“Follow me,” said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. “Unfortunately, my husband and sister are not here at the moment but they will be back momentarily.”

The drawing room, once a place of laughter for Sarah and Draco, was now dark and cold. They were forced into the middle of the room, directly beneath the chandelier.

“Are you positive this is Potter?” Narcissa said regally. “If Lucius comes home to find you have made a mistake – “

“It is,” interrupted Greyback. “Ma’am,” he added at Narcissa’s harsh look. “But we know this is the Deaumont girl, she’s a pretty one and yous were saying you wanted her alive. I betcha the other boy – not the ginger – is your son.”

Narcissa glared at him. “You dare accuse my son of conspiring with these people?” she said in a glacial tone.

“Uh, no – ma’am,” stuttered Greyback.

At that moment, the door to the drawing room banged open and Lucius Malfoy walked in, followed immediately by Bellatrix Lestrange. Sarah knew in that moment that their hope of escape had just vanished.

“What is the meaning of this, Narcissa?” demanded Lucius, before turning to examine the Snatchers and the prisoners. His eyes locked onto Sarah’s and he smiled cruelly. “Well, if it isn’t little Miss Deaumont,” he drawled.

Bellatrix stepped forward and cackled, “Isn’t she the little bitch who took our Draco from us?” She turned to Scabior, who still had a death grip on Sarah’s arm. “Separate her from the others,” she demanded.

The others tried to fight against their restraints as Sarah was cut free, Bellatrix’s wand at her throat.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of properly meeting before,” she hissed. “You’ve always been a slight nuisance to us.”

Sarah remained silent, eyes trained on the wand in front of her.

“What is it? Cat got your tongue?” laughed Bellatrix. “ _Crucio_!”

Sarah dropped to the floor as horrible pain wracked through her body. She screamed loudly; it was somehow worse than when her father cursed her in fourth year. When the curse lifted, she could hear Draco growling behind her. Bellatrix laughed manically and dragged Sarah off the floor, playing with a lock of hair which had come loose.

Lucius sneered and ripped up his sleeve, the Dark Mark standing in stark contrast to his pale skin –

“STOP!” shrieked Bellatrix. “Do not touch it, we shall al perish if the Dark Lord comes now!”

Lucius froze, his index finger hovering over his own Mark. Bellatrix strode over the Snatcher with Gryffindor’s sword, dragging Sarah along with her.

“What is that?” Bellatrix hissed at him.

“Sword,” he grunted.

“Give it to me.”

“It’s not yours, Missus, it’s mine, I reckon I found it.”

There was a bang and flash of red light as the Snatcher was Stunned. There was a roar of anger from his fellows: Scabior drew his wand.

“What d’you think you’re playing at, woman?”

“ _Stupefy!”_ she screamed, “ _stupefy_!”

They were no match for her, even though there were four of them against one of her: she was a witch, as Sarah knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. They fell where they stood, all except Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Bellatrix snarled down at the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor tightly gripped in her hand and dangerously close to Sarah’s neck.

“Where did you get this sword?” Bellatrix whispered to Greyback as she pulled his wand out of his unresisting grip.

“How dare you?” he snarled, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at her. He bared his pointed teeth. “Release me, woman!”

“Where did you find this sword?” she repeated, brandishing it in his face. “Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!”

“It was in their tent,” rasped Greyback. “Release me, I say!”

She waved her wand and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy, curved nails clutching its back.

“Move this scum outside,” said Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. “The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!”

“This is my house, Bella, you don’t give orders in my – “ Narcissa cried.

“Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!” shrieked Bellatrix. Her grip on Sarah’s hair was extremely painful and Sarah could feel a few strands break free from her scalp.

Narcissa hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking imperceptibly to Sarah and Draco for the briefest moment, then addressed the werewolf.

“Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback.”

“Wait,” said Bellatrix sharply, as Greyback took a step toward them. “All except this one…and the Mudblood.”

Greyback gave a grunt of pleasure.

“No!” shouted Ron. “You can have me, keep me!”

Bellatrix lunged forward and hit him across the face; the blow echoed around the room.

“If they die under questioning, I’ll take you next,” she said. “Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.”

Sarah watched helplessly as Hermione was cut free from the others before they were dragged away, Draco worriedly glancing back at her in horror. She closed her eyes and hoped the boys came up with a plan before Bellatrix could kill her and Hermione. They could hear Ron bellowing Hermione’s name as the group disappeared.

Bellatrix tutted and twisted Sarah around to pout at her. “Hear that? They don’t seem to care enough to call out for you. How sad.”

She jerked her chin at Narcissa.

“Hold the Mudblood while I have my fun with this one,” she leered.

Sarah was forced to lie on her back on the dark wooden floors as Bellatrix knelt down beside her, a gleaming silver knife now in her hands.

“What did you take from my vault?” she demanded, pressing the knife to Sarah’s forearm.

“Nothing,” Sarah gasped out, closing her eyes tightly as the blade pierced her skin. She bit her lip to stop from crying out as Bellatrix drew a ragged line down her arm.

“Don’t lie to me,” Bellatrix hissed. “ _What did you take_? _Crucio!”_

Sarah’s scream reverberated against the high walls. She couldn’t help the tears that started to fall from the corner of her eyes.

“Nothing, I swear!” she sobbed. “We haven’t been to your vault!”

“LIES!” screamed Bellatrix, shooting the curse again. Tremors were still coursing through Sarah’s limbs as Bellatrix cut her again.

Sarah looked up at the ceiling that had once intrigued her so much as a child and tried not to move too much as Bellatrix bent over her arm, slicing painful marks across her skin.

“How did you get to my vault?” demanded Bellatrix shrilly.

“I already told you,” Sarah muttered weakly. “We haven’t been to – ARGHHHHH!”

After she ended the curse this time, Bellatrix roughly pulled Sarah’s shirt up to expose her abdomen.

“Looks like I’ll just have to teach you a lesson, then, missy,” she cackled, lowering the knife again.

Sarah tilted her head to the side and saw Hermione watching her from Narcissa’s arms, tears streaming down her face. Sarah held her gaze as Bellatrix continued cutting at her skin, the floor beneath her warming slightly as her blood flowed from her wounds.

She realised distantly that Greyback had entered the room at some point and was now staring down at Sarah and Bellatrix with a gleeful expression.

“Not going to talk, are you?” Bellatrix said, finally standing up and stepping away from Sarah. “Maybe the Mudblood will be more forthcoming.”

She turned around, her wild dark hair whipping behind her, and smiled maniacally at the sight of the newest observer.

“Greyback, you like them young, don’t you?” crooned Bellatrix, beckoning the large, werewolf over to them. “I’m done with her for now. Have your fun.”

Fresh tears streamed out of Sarah’s eyes as Bellatrix wrenched Hermione from Narcissa’s arms and threw her down beside Sarah.

“We’ll be okay,” Sarah whispered to her.

Hermione’s lip wobbled as she struggled not to sob loudly. Heavy footsteps sounded and Sarah refused to look up as Greyback knelt beside her and ran one large, sharp nail up and down her body. She clenched her eyes tightly shut as Hermione’s screams and Bellatrix’s questions filled the room.

She felt as though she was in some sort of trance as a weight settled over her, a putrid stench filling her nose as her shirt was pushed up further. She couldn’t fight back, weak from blood loss and pain and hopelessness filled her as the werewolf leant down and pressed his nose to her hair. Sarah felt bile rise in her throat as he ran his fingers through her loose hair, one hand trailing down to the waistband of her pants –

“NOOOOOOOO!”

Sarah’s eyes shot open at the shout. Ron had burst into the drawing room; the Death Eater above Sarah looked around, his wand raised high –

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ roared Draco. The Death Eater’s wand went flying into the air and suddenly Draco was there, pulling the heavy body off Sarah. He threw a Stunning Spell at the werewolf and dropped to his knees beside her.

“Are you okay?” he whispered. “Oh Merlin, please be okay!”

“STOP OR SHE DIES!”

Draco helped Sarah to a sitting position and she saw that Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione’s throat. Lucius was unconscious on the other side of the room and Bellatrix’s wand was clutched tightly in Harry’s hand.

“Drop your wands,” Bellatrix whispered. “Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!”

Ron stood rigid, clutching an unfamiliar wand. Harry straightened up, still holding Bellatrix’s. Draco helped Sarah to her feet and held her tightly to him.

“I said, drop them!” Bellatrix screeched, pressing the blade into Hermione’s throat; Sarah saw beads of blood appear there.

“All right!” Harry shouted, and he dropped Bellatrix’s wand on the floor at his feet. Ron and Draco did the same. They all raised their hands to shoulder height.

“Good!” leered Bellatrix. “Cissy, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!”

She spun around and glanced at Greyback, who was starting to stir again.

“Grab the boys!” she demanded of him as he got unsteadily to his feet. “Cissy, take the girl!”

Draco refused to relinquish his grip on Sarah until Bellatrix pressed harder against Hermione’s throat. It was only then that he allowed Sarah to be passed to his mother. Narcissa held her gently as the boys stood in a tight group, Greyback’s wand aimed at them.

“Now,” said Bellatrix softly, “Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood and the little bitch there. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girls, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.”

At the last word there was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upwards in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who Sarah hadn’t notice be brought in. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions; Narcissa shifted slightly so that Sarah’s face was covered.

As Ron ran to pull Hermione out of the wreckage, Harry leapt over an armchair and body-slammed Greyback, setting the pair sprawling to the ground. Draco raced to help them. Sarah felt something smooth press against her hands and realised that Narcissa was handing her their wands.

“Go!” she hissed, pushing Sarah away. Sarah took a few unsteady steps forward before collapsing to the ground in a painful heap.

Seconds later, hands were pulling her to her feet and Harry and Draco’s worried faces swam in front of her.

“Dobby!” she heard Narcissa scream, and everyone froze, even Bellatrix. “You! _You_ dropped the chandelier - ?”

The tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress.

“You must not hurt Harry Potter,” he squeaked.

“Kill him, Cissy!” shrieked Bellatrix, but there was a loud _crack_ , and Narcissa’s wand flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room.

“You dirty little monkey!” bawled Bellatrix. “How dare you take a witch’s wand, how dare you defy your masters?”

“Dobby has no master!” squealed the elf. “Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”

“Ha – Harry – “ Sarah muttered weakly. She pressed the wands in her hands to the boy, who looked down at them in surprise. “Here.”

The last thing she heard was Harry shouting, “Ron, catch – and GO!” before she felt Draco wrap his arms around her tightly and turn on the spot, Disapparating them into a whirlwind of darkness.

Sarah fell heavily onto soft sand and only barely glimpsed Draco’s pale face above her before she passed out.

***

When she woke up, the first thing she saw a silhouette of a man beside her. She began screaming hysterically, thinking that they hadn’t gotten away – they were still at the Manor – Greyback was still on top of her –

“Sarah! SARAH! Calm down!” someone was shouting.

“NO! NO! GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME!” she shrieked with a mixture of sobs. “LET ME GO, LET ME GO!”

The hands trying to restrain her released her and a melodic female voice replaced the first.

“Sarah, you are okay,” it said. “ _Breathe_.”

Soft hands, so unlike Greyback’s, gently took hold of Sarah’s hands and she took a few deep breaths, blinking away tears until she saw the familiar face of Fleur staring back at her.

“F-Fleur?” she whispered.

“Yes, mon cheri,” Fleur said. “You and your friends are safe. You are at our house.”

Sarah glanced behind her to see Bill standing close to the door.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped at Bill. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”

“I couldn’t move,” Sarah said, hyperventilating. “He was on me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t – “ Sarah doubled forward and buried her face into the soft comforter.

“I zink you should leave,” she heard Fleur say to Bill. “She should not ‘ave men near ‘er right now.”

Bill quietly left the room as Fleur softly stroked Sarah’s hair until her breathing evened out. She pulled her face up to look at the older woman’s calming smile and felt herself relax even further.

“You are safe, ‘ere, Sarah,” Fleur assured her. “No one can ‘urt you now.”

Until that point, Sarah hadn’t registered the heavy bandages covering her abdomen and right forearm. She tugged absently at them.

“Was it bad?” she whispered to Fleur.

Fleur’s bright blue eyes narrowed slightly and she said, “I will not lie to you, Sarah. Zey were not pretty. Bill and I did as much as we could but…”

“That’s okay. Thank you,” Sarah said softly. “Is Hermione okay?”

“She will be fine,” Fleur said. “She woke up ‘alf an ‘our ago but eez still in bed.”

“Can I see her?”

Fleur nodded. “Of course. Follow me.”

With Fleur’s help, Sarah got out of the bed onto wobbly legs. They made their way slowly down a short hall and into the last bedroom on the left. Hermione was sitting up slightly in bed, a pillow held close to her chest, her face very pale.

“Sarah!” she exclaimed when they entered the room. “Are you okay? How are you feeling? I heard you screaming – “

“Woah, ‘Mione, slow down a bit, I just woke up,” Sarah said with a small laugh. “I’m sore but okay. What about you?”

“The same,” admitted the other girl. “Come sit!”

Fleur helped Sarah onto the bed beside Hermione, who immediately wrapped her arms loosely around Sarah. Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah noticed Fleur leave the room.

“I thought you were going to die,” Hermione whispered into Sarah’s neck. “And when Greyback – when he – “

“He didn’t,” Sarah said firmly. “And scars will heal.”

“But it’s okay if some don’t,” Hermione told her. “It’s okay if you’re not fine. Sarah, you were nearly – “

“I know, Hermione,” she said sharply. She immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry,” she said in a softer tone. “I really don’t want to think about it right now.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Hermione said quickly.

“It’s okay,” Sarah assured her. “I know what you meant.”

They sat in silence, just relishing the feeling of comfort from the other’s presence.

“Where are the boys?” Sarah asked.

Before Hermione could answer, the door opened to reveal Fleur again, this time carrying two thick blankets.

“Everyone eez outside,” she said quietly. “’Arry eez burying ze elf.”

“Dobby?” Sarah choked out. “How - ?”

“I do not know,” Fleur said. “You are welcome to come with me.”

Sarah looked at Hermione, who nodded quickly. They staggered out of the bed with lots of assistance from Fleur and found Bill waiting on the landing for them.

“Are you both all right?” he asked worriedly.

Hermione nodded at him. Sarah didn’t reply but stepped wordlessly up to him and hugged him. He smiled at her when she released him and helped Fleur drape a blanket over her shoulders.

“It’s April,” she complained. “It’s going to be too hot – “

“It’s colder here than where you were,” Bill commented lightly. “Trust me.”

With his help, Sarah descended the staircase to the ground level, Hermione and Fleur behind them. To Sarah’s shock, Luna was calmly sitting at the kitchen table wrapped in one of Fleur’s coats, her blond hair loose around her thin, pale face.

“Luna?” Sarah gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“Harry, Ron and Draco found me in the cellar,” Luna said in her misty voice. “That kind elf brought me, Dean, Mr Ollivander and Griphook here. It’s such a shame what happened.”

“What did happen?” Sarah asked.

“Bellatrix’s knife hit Dobby as he was leaving,” explained Luna. “Harry is quite distraught.”

They all walked slowly to the backyard where Harry, Draco, Ron and Dean were just finishing digging a small grave. Dobby was wrapped snugly in Harry’s jacket, Ron’s shoes and socks on his small feet. Atop his head was a woollen hat and Draco’s scarf was wrapped around his neck.

“We should close his eyes.”

The boys looked up at Luna’s voice. They looked relieved to see Sarah and Hermione up and walking. Draco stepped up beside Sarah and put an arm around her and she gratefully leaned into him; Ron did the same to Hermione.

Luna walked towards the grave, crouched down and placed her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf’s eyelids, sliding them over his glassy green stare.

“There,” she said softly. “Now he could be sleeping.”

Harry placed the elf in the grave, arranged his tiny limbs so that he might have been resting, then climbed out and gazed for the last time upon the little body. Sarah watched him sadly, wrapping her arm around Draco’s waist.

“I think we ought to say something,” piped up Luna. “I’ll go first, shall I?”

And as everybody looked at her, she addressed the dead elf at the bottom of the grave.

“Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It’s so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I’ll always remember what you did for us. I hope you’re happy now.”

She turned and looked expectantly at Ron, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, “Yeah…thanks Dobby.”

“Thanks,” muttered Dean.

“Thank you for trying to drop a chandelier on Bellatrix,” Sarah said softly. “Even though it was one of my personal favourites.”

Draco let out a soft laugh but then sobered. He stared intently at the small grave. “Thank you for coming to help us, Dobby,” he said thickly. “I will always be eternally grateful for you answering my call – even if it did cost you your life.”

Harry stared at his boyfriend with tear-lined eyes and took Draco’s free hand, holding it tightly in his own.

“Goodbye, Dobby,” he said heavily.

Bill raised his wand, and the pile of earth beside the grave rose up into the air and fell neatly upon it, a small, reddish mound.

“Do you mind if I stay here a moment?” Harry asked the others.

Sarah smiled sadly at him before releasing Draco, pushing him slightly toward Harry. Dean took Draco’s abandoned spot and helped Sarah walk back to the house with the others. They all crowed around in the living room, Sarah and Hermione sinking gratefully into chairs.

Ron caught Sarah’s eye and opened his mouth.

“If one more person asks me how I’m feeling, I’ll hex them,” she threatened.

Ron smirked at her. “You’re much better then,” he commented lightly. “Good.”

“Well, I couldn’t leave you all to fend for yourselves,” she stated tiredly. “Poor Hermione would have had her work cut out for her.”

Bill, Fleur and Luna brought them all steaming cups of tea as they waited for Draco and Harry to return to the house. The room was light-coloured, pretty, with a small fire of driftwood burning brightly in the fireplace. Bill was quietly explaining what he had been doing in the last few hours when the two boys walked into the room.

“…lucky that Ginny’s on holiday. If she’d been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she’s safe too.”

He looked around and saw Harry and Draco standing in the doorway.

“I’ve been getting them all out of The Burrow,” he explained. “Moved them to Muriel’s. The Death Eater’s know Ron’s with you now, they’re bound to target the family – don’t apologise,” he added, at the sight of Harry’s expression. “It was always a matter of time, Dad’s been saying so for months. We’re the biggest blood traitor family there is.”

“How are they protected?” asked Harry.

“Fidelius Charm. Dad’s Secret Keeper. And we’ve done it on this cottage too; I’m Secret Keeper here. None of us can go to work, but that’s hardly the most important things now. Once Ollivander and Griphook are well enough, we’ll move them to Muriel’s took. There isn’t much room here, but she’s got plenty. Griphook’s legs are on the mend, Fleur’s given him Skele-Gro: we could probably move them in an hour or – “

“No,” Harry said, and Bill looked startled. “I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It’s important.”

Sarah and the others looked at him puzzled, startled by the authority in his voice.

“I’m going to wash,” Harry told them, looking down at his hands, still covered in mud and Dobby’s blood. “Then I’ll need to see them, straight away.”

He and Draco disappeared into the kitchen. Sarah turned to Ron and asked quietly, “Do you know what that was about?”

Ron shook his head. “Griphook’s got the sword though, I saw him.”

Sarah blinked in surprise. “Was that why he was there? I didn’t notice him getting brought in…”

There was a tense silence as Ron and Hermione realised why she hadn’t noticed. Sarah broke it by coughing and saying to Dean and Luna, “Will you both go to Muriel’s as well?”

They looked at Bill, who said, “You’re welcome too. It might be safer.”

“Was she the nasty woman from your wedding?” Luna asked airily. “She insulted Ginny’s ankles.”

Bill choked back a laugh and made eye contact with Ron.

“That’s the one,” he agreed.

Luna played with a strand of her hair and smiled. “It will be nice to see Ginny again. Does Muriel have flowers? I’d like to see smell them. Sometimes I could in the cellar when the wind blew through the small window. They smelt lovely.”

“They would have been the azaleas,” Draco said in a choked voice, reentering the room. “They’re my mother’s favourites.”

“That’s lovely,” Luna said, smiling at him.

“I need to speak to Griphook and Ollivander,” Harry said to Bill and Fleur.

“No,” said Fleur. “You will ‘ave to wait, ‘Arry. Zey are both ill, tired – “

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, “but it can’t wait. I need to talk to them now. Privately – and separately. It’s urgent.”

“Harry, what the hell is going on?” asked Bill. “You turn up here with a dead house-elf, and a half-conscious goblin, Hermione and Sarah look as though they’ve been tortured and Ron’s refusing to tell me anything – “

“We can’t tell you what we’re going,” said Harry flatly. “You’re in the Order, Bill, you know Dumbledore left us a mission. We’re not supposed to talk about it to anyone else.”

Fleur made an impatient noise, but Bill did not look at her; he was staring at Harry. His deeply scarred face was hard to read. Finally, Bill said, “All right. Who do you want to talk to first?”

“Griphook,” Harry said. “I’ll speak to Griphook first.”

Sarah rose to her feet – Draco grabbing her as she swayed slightly – and said to Harry, who had paused, “Well, go on then. We don’t have all day.”

“You should rest. Both of you,” he said to her and Hermione, who had appeared at Sarah’s side.

“And you shouldn’t tell me what to do,” Sarah said haughtily. “Lead the way, Bill.”

They followed him up the steep stairs, on to a small landing. Three doors led off it.

“In here,” said Bill, opening the door to his and Fleur’s room. It, too, had a view of the sea, now flecked with gold in the sunrise. Harry moved to the window, turned his back on the spectacular view and waited, his arms folded, Draco standing beside him. Hermione took the chair beside the dressing table, Ron sat on the arm, and Sarah collapsed on the edge of the bed.

Bill reappeared, carrying the little goblin, whom he sat down carefully upon the bed opposite Sarah. Griphook grunted thanks and Bill left, closing the door upon them all.

“I’m sorry to take you out of bed,” said Harry. “How are your legs?”

“Painful,” replied the goblin. “But mending.”

He was still clutching the sword of Gryffindor, and wore a strange look; half-truculent, half-intrigued. Sarah noted the goblin’s sallow skin, his long, thin fingers, his black eyes. Fleur had removed his shoes: his long feet were dirty. He was larger than a house-elf, but not by much. His domed head was much bigger than a human’s.

“You probably don’t remember – “ Harry began.

“ – that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?” said Griphook. “I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous.”

Harry frowned but didn’t say anything. Sarah thought that Griphook was looking entirely unaffected by the circumstances.

“You buried the elf,” Griphook said, sounding unexpectedly rancorous. “I watched you, from the window of the bedroom next door.”

“Yes,” said Harry.

Griphook looked at him out of the corner of his slanting black eyes.

“You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter.”

“In what way?” asked Harry, rubbing his scar absently.

“You dug the grave.”

“So?”

Griphook did not answer. Sarah rather thought Harry was being sneered at for acting like a Muggle. She frowned at the goblin, who was stroking a finger gently over the silver blade and only looked up when Harry addressed him again.

“Griphook, I need to ask – “

“You also rescued a goblin?”

“What?”

“You brought me here. Saved me.”

“Well, I take it you’re not sorry?” said Harry, a little impatiently. Sarah couldn’t blame him really.

“No, Harry Potter,” said Griphook, and with one finger he twisted the thin, black beard upon his chin, ‘but you are a very odd wizard.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Well, I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me.”

The goblin made so sign of encouragement, but continued to frown at Harry as though he had never seen anything like him.

“I need to break into a Gringotts vault.”

Sarah, Draco, Ron and Hermione stared at Harry as though he had gone mad. Although, Sarah thought, it was a likely possibility.

“Harry – “ said Hermione, but she was cut off by Griphook.

“Break into a Gringotts vault?” repeated the goblin, wincing a little as he shifted his position upon the bed. “It is impossible.”

“No, it isn’t,” Ron contradicted him. “It’s been done.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “The same day I first met you, Griphook. My birthday, seven years ago.”

“The vault in question was empty at the time,” snapped the goblin, and Sarah understood that even though Griphook had left Gringotts, he was offended by the idea of its defences being breached. “It’s protection was minimal.”

“Well, the vault we need to get into isn’t empty, and I’m guessing its protection will be pretty powerful,” said Harry. “It belongs to the Lestranges.”

“Harry, that’s mad,” hissed Draco. “You have no idea what they have guarding – “

“I may not,” agreed Harry. “But Griphook does.”

“You have no chance,” said Griphook flatly. “No chance at all. ‘ _If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours – ‘”_

 _“’Thief, you have been warned, beware – ‘_ yeah, I know, I remember,” said Harry. “But I’m not trying to get myself any treasure, I’m not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?”

The goblin looked slantwise at Harry.

“If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain,” said Griphook finally, “it would be you, Harry Potter. Goblins and elves are not used to protection, or the respect, that you have shown this night. Not from wand-carriers.”

“Wand-carriers,” repeated Harry.

“The right to carry a wand,” said the goblin quietly, “has long been contested between wizards and goblins.”

“Well, goblins can do magic without wands,” said Draco.

“That is immaterial! Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wandlore with other magic beings, they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!”

“Well, goblins won’t share any of their magic, either,” said Ron. “You won’t tell us how to make swords and armour the way you do. Goblins know how to work metal in ways wizards have never – “

“It doesn’t matter,” said Sarah, noting Griphook’s rising colour. “This isn’t about that – “

“Of course it is!” said Griphook with a nasty laugh. “Who amongst the wand-carriers protests when house-elves and goblins are slaughtered?”

“We do!” said Hermione. She had sat up straight, her eyes bright. “We protest! And I’m hunted quite as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! I’m a Mudblood!”

“Don’t call yourself – “ Ron muttered.

“Why shouldn’t I?” said Hermione. “Mudblood, and proud of it! I’ve got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys!”

As she spoke, she pulled aside the neck of the dressing gown to reveal the thin cut Bellatrix had made, scarlet against her throat.

“Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free?” she asked. “Did you know that we’ve wanted elves to be freed for years?” (Sarah, Draco and Ron avoided looking directly at her) “You can’t want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!”

The goblin gazed at Hermione with the same curiosity he had shown Harry.

“What do you seek within the Lestranges’ vault?’ he asked abruptly. “The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one.” He looked from one to the other of them. “I think that you already know this. You asked me to lie for you back there.”

“But the fake sword isn’t the only thing in that vault, is it?” asked Sarah. “Perhaps you’ve seen the other things in there?”

She had finally connected the dots on what Harry had been talking about. He thought that there may be a Horcrux in Bellatrix’s vault – that was why she had gotten so sacred at the Manor.

The goblin stroked the sword, and his black eyes roved from Sarah, to Harry, to Hermione, to Ron, to Draco and then back again.

“So young,” he said finally, “to be fighting so many.”

“Will you help us?” said Harry. “We haven’t got a hope of breaking in without a goblin’s help. You’re our one chance.”

“I shall…think about it,” said Griphook maddeningly.

“But – “ Ron started angrily; Hermione nudged him in the ribs.

“Thank you,” said Harry.

The goblin bowed his great, domed head in acknowledgement, then flexed his short legs.

“I think,” he said, settling himself ostentatiously upon Bill and Fleur’s bed, “that the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me…”

“Yeah, of course,” said Harry.

Sarah stood up but before she left the room, she leant forward and took the sword of Gryffindor from beside the goblin. Griphook did not protest, but Sarah thought she saw resentment in the goblin’s eyes as she closed the door behind her.

“Little git,” whispered Ron. “He’s enjoying keeping us hanging.”

“Harry,” whispered Draco, pulling them all away from the door, into the middle of the still dark landing, “are you saying what I think you’re saying? Are you saying there’s a Horcrux in the Lestranges’ vault?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“It makes sense,” Sarah muttered, rubbing her forearm absently. “Bellatrix was terrified when she thought we’d been in there. She was petrified we had taken something You-Know-Who would find out about.”

“But I thought we were looking for places You-Know-Who’s been, places he’s done something important?” said Ron, looking baffled. “Was he ever inside the Lestranges’ vault?”

“That was just a theory,” said Draco. “The Lestranges’ are his most loyal followers. They wouldn’t question him if he told them he needed to hide something in their vault; they would be honoured.”

“I don’t think he’d have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though. He never told Draco’s father the truth about the diary. He probably told her it was a treasured possession. The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide, Hagrid told me…except for Hogwarts.”

When Harry had finished speaking, Ron shook his head.

“You really understand him.”

“Bits of him,” said Harry. “Bits…I just wish I’d understood Dumbledore as much. But we’ll see. Come on – Ollivander now.”

“I’m going to sit out on this one,” Sarah said. She smiled weakly at the others. “I’m finding it a bit difficult to stay upright. I’ll be downstairs when you’re done.”

“Do you want me - ?” Draco started but Sarah cut him off by shaking her head.

“No, you need to listen to this,” she said firmly. “Tell me the important parts afterwards, okay?”

She left before any of the others could argue and slowly hobbled down the staircase back into the kitchen. Bill, Fleur, Luna and Dean were sitting at the table, cups of tea in front of them. Fleur immediately jumped up to make Sarah a cup of her own as she gingerly lowered herself into the seat beside Dean.

“Where are the others?” Bill asked her.

“With Ollivander,” she replied. “I was a bit sore.”

“You shouldn’t be moving around so much,” scolded Fleur, placing a cup in front of her. “You will reopen your wounds.”

Sarah waved a hand in the air. “I’ll patch them back up, don’t worry about me.”

Fleur frowned but reclaimed her seat, taking Bill’s hand on top of the table.

Sarah’s heart lurched slightly so she turned to look at Dean and Luna.

“When will you be leaving?” she asked them.

“Bill said he could take us later today,” Dean answered. “He wanted to let us sleep for a little while.”

Sarah nodded and sipped her tea. Luna smiled across the table at her.

“Don’t worry Sarah,” she said brightly. “When we see Fred I’ll tell him you love him.”

Sarah felt a rush of fondness for Luna and smiled in return.

“Just – er – please don’t tell him what happened,” she requested. “I’d rather tell him myself.”

“Of course,” nodded Luna. “I won’t mention anything about Greyback.”

“I was talking more about Bellatrix,” Sarah said hesitantly. She wasn’t even surprised that Luna somehow guessed what had happened.

“That too,” Luna agreed breezily. “You should have some of Fleur’s quiche. It was quite delicious.”

It was another few minutes before Harry and the others appeared downstairs again. He merely caught Sarah’s eye and inclined his head toward the back door before disappearing with Draco, Ron and Hermione on his heels.

“Excuse me,” Sarah muttered to the table, pushing herself out of her chair.

She found the four of them huddled in a small circle in front of Dobby’s grave, Harry rubbing viciously at his scar.

“Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, a long time ago,” he said without prompting. “I saw You-Know-Who trying to find it. When he tracked him down, he found that Gregorovitch didn’t have it any more: it was stolen from him by Grindelwald. How Grindelwald found out that Gregorovitch had it, I don’t know – but if Gregorovitch was stupid enough to spread the rumour, it can’t have been that difficult.”

He groaned slightly and pressed his hands against his eyes. Sarah guessed that he was struggling to not have one of his glimpses of Voldemort’s mind.

“And Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful. And at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him, he duelled Grindelwald, and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand.”

“ _Dumbledore_ had the Elder Wand?” said Ron. “But then – where is it now?”

“At Hogwarts,” said Harry. Draco put a hand on Harry’s shoulder to steady the other boy.

“But then, let’s go!” said Ron urgently. “Harry, let’s go and get it, before he does!”

“It’s too late for that,” said Harry. “He knows where it is. He’s there now.”

“Harry!” Ron said, furiously. “How long have you known this – why have we been wasting time? Why did you talk to Griphook first? We could have gone – we could still go – “

“No,” said Harry, and he sank to his knees in the grass. “Hermione and Draco are right. Dumbledore didn’t want me to have it. He didn’t want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes.”

“The unbeatable wand, Harry!” moaned Ron.

“I’m not supposed to…I’m supposed to get the Horcruxes…”

Harry trailed off and sagged against Draco, clutching his head. Ron took a startled step forward but Sarah held out her hand to stop him.

“Wait,” she said. “It’ll be over soon.”

“I thought he had been practicing!” Hermione said. “This shouldn’t happen!”

“It’s gotten really bad recently,” Draco snapped. “He can’t help it.”

“I think it was because of the locket,” Sarah admitted. “Being in such close contact made the connection with You-Know-Who stronger, overpowering his Occlumency shields.”

Harry groaned and opened his eyes, panting slightly.

“He has it. He has the Elder Wand,” he gasped.

Ron closed his eyes and ran a hand through his head.

“Well, this sucks.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Bill and Fleur’s cottage stood alone on a cliff overlooking the sea, its walls embedded with shells and whitewashed. It was a lonely and beautiful place. Whenever Sarah went inside the tiny cottage or its garden, she could hear the constant ebb and flow of the sea, like the breathing of some great, slumbering creature. She spent much of the next few days making excuses to escape the crowded cottage, craving the cliff-top view of open sky and wide, empty sea, and the feel of cold, salty wind on her face. Sometimes she was joined by one of the others but usually it was just her.

Bill took Dean and Luna to Muriel’s the first night and Sarah had been sad to see them go. It had been so good seeing her friends, despite the circumstances they were in. Fleur had forced Sarah and Hermione to stay in bed for hours at a time until they could both walk without assistance and the tremors in Sarah’s muscles had disappeared. At night, Sarah poured over the messy cuts let on her skin from Bellatrix’s knife and tried whatever she could to heal them with as little scarring as possible. Alas, no amount of dittany seemed to be making them go away.

A knock sounded on her door and Sarah dropped her shirt so it covered her abdomen again.

“Come in!”

Draco’s face appeared in the mirror as he pushed the door open.

“Griphook’s agreed to help us,” he announced, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. “But he wants to sword of Gryffindor in exchange for his help. I thought you should know.”

“Why didn’t you get me straight away?” she demanded.

Draco shrugged unapologetically. “You were busy.”

“Busy my arse,” she snapped. “That was important.”

“And so is that,” Draco said, indicating the small bottle of dittany on the bed.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

Draco smirked at her before stalking forward.

“Are they getting any better?” he asked.

Sarah lifted the hem of her shirt to show him. “No,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Truthfully, I think it’s the silver.”

Draco looked at her sharply in question. She pointed at the faded scratches on the side of her neck.

“I think Remus’s scratch made me more unlikely to heal from a wound made with silver,” she explained. “I fucking hate your aunt.”

“Join the club,” snorted Draco. He covered Sarah’s stomach again and slung an arm over her shoulder. “Come on, the others are probably done arguing now.”

He led her to Griphook’s room in time to see Harry agreeing to Griphook’s terms and shaking his frail hand.

“So!” Griphook announced, clapping his hands together. “We begin!”

It was like planning to break into the Ministry all over again. They settled to work in the smallest bedroom, which was kept, according to Griphook’s preference, in semi-darkness.

“I have visited the Lestranges’ vault only once,” Griphook told them, “on the occasion I was told to place inside it the false sword. It is one of the most ancient chambers. The oldest wizarding families store their treasures at the deepest level, where the vaults are largest and best protected…” He turned to Sarah and Draco. “Both your family vaults are beside the Lestranges’.”

“Is it laid out the same way?” Sarah asked.

“With the same protection?” added Draco.

Griphook nodded. “The Lestranges added their own protection on top of the standard ones Gringotts provides.”

“Well, that’s just fucking brilliant,” muttered Sarah.

They remained shut in the cupboard-like room for hours at a time. Slowly, the days stretched into weeks. There was problem after problem to overcome, not least of which was that their store of Polyjuice Potion was greatly depleted.

“There’s really only enough left for one of us,” said Hermione, tilting the thick mud-like Potion against the lamplight.

“That’ll be enough,” said Harry, who was examining Griphook’s hand-drawn map of the deepest passageways.

The other inhabitants of Shell Cottage could hardly fail to notice that something was going on now that the five of them only emerged for meal times. Nobody asked questions, although Sarah often felt Bill’s eyes on them at the table, thoughtful, concerned.

The longer they spent together, the more Sarah realised that she did not much like the goblin. Griphook was unexpected bloodthirsty, laughed at the idea of pain in lesser creatures and seemed to relish the possibility that they might have to hurt other wizards to reach the Lestranges’ vault. Sarah could tell that her distaste was shared by the other four, but they did not discuss it: they needed Griphook.

The goblin ate only grudgingly with the rest of them. Even after his legs had mended, he continued to request trays of food in his room, like the still frail Ollivander, until Bill (following an angry outburst from Fleur) went upstairs to tell him that the arrangement could not continue. Thereafter, Griphook joined them at the overcrowded table, although he refused to eat the same food, insisting, instead, on lumps of raw meat, roots and various fungi.

Sarah knew that Harry felt responsible: it was, after all, he who had insisted that the goblin remain at Shell Cottage so that they could question him. She caught Harry apologising to Fleur in the kitchen one night as they prepared dinner in late April.

“I’m sorry,” he told Fleur. “I never meant for you to have to deal with all of this.”

She had set some knives to work, chopping the steaks for Griphook and Bill, who had preferred his meat bloody ever since he had been attacked by Greyback. While the knives sliced away behind her, her somewhat irritable expression softened.

“’Arry, you saved my sister’s life, I do not forget.”

She met Sarah’s eye across the room and smirked.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I like Sarah and Draco and zey like you. Also, you’re practically Bill’s family. Zerefore, you’re my family.”

Sarah snorted and blew her cover. Harry spun around and glared half-heartedly at her as she scrambled to grab a jug and pretend to fill it with the first thing she pulled out of the fridge.

“You know that’s sauce, right?” Harry stated flatly.

Sarah glanced down to see that she was indeed holding a bottle of tomato sauce.

“I happen to quite enjoy tomato sauce,” she said lightly, ignoring Fleur’s tinkling laugh.

Harry rolled his eyes at her.

Fleur saved her and said, “Mr Ollivander leaves for Muriel’s zis evening. Zat will make things easier. Ze goblin,” she scowled a little at the mention of him, “can move downstairs, and you, Ron and Draco can take zat room.”

“We don’t mind sleeping in the living room,” said Harry. “Don’t worry about us.” And when she tried to protest he went on, “We’ll be off your hands soon, too, the five of us. We won't need to be here much longer.”

“But what do you mean?” she said, frowning at them, her wand pointing at the casserole dish now suspended in midair. “Of course, you must not leave, you are safe ‘ere!”

She looked rather like Mrs Weasley as she said it, and Sarah was glad that the back door opened and revealed Draco, his hair damp from the rain outside and his arms full of driftwood. Seizing the chance to escape Fleur’s questions, Sarah grabbed the actual pumpkin juice and followed him, Harry hot on her heels.

Bill lead Mr Ollivander down the stairs a moment later. The wandmaker still looked exceptionally frail, and he clung to Bill’s arm as the latter supported him, carrying a large suitcase.

“I hope you get well soon, Mr Ollivander,” Sarah said warmly. She had found herself going to his room more often the last few weeks whenever she had free time just to sit and talk with the old man.

“Thank you very much, dear,” said Ollivander, patting her on the shoulder.

“So, _au revoir_ , Mr Ollivander,” said Fleur, kissing him on both cheeks. “And I wonder whezzer you could oblige me by delivering a package to Bill’s Auntie Muriel? I never returned ‘er tiara.”

“It will be an honour,” said Ollivander, with a little bow, “the very least I can do in return for your generous hospitality.”

Fleur drew out a worn velvet cast, which she opened to show the wandmaker. The tiara sat glittering and twinkling in the light from the low-hanging lamp.

“Moonstones and diamonds,” said Griphook, who had sidled into the room without Sarah noticing. “Made by goblins, I think?”

“And paid for by wizards,” said Bill quietly, and the goblin shot him a look that was both furtive and challenging.

A strong wind gusted against the cottage windows as Bill and Ollivander set off into the night. The rest of them squeezed in around the table; elbow to elbow and started to eat. The fire crackled and popped in the grate beside them. Fleur, Sarah noticed, was merely playing with her food; she glanced at the window every few minutes; however, Bill returned before had finished their first course, his long hair tangled by the wind.

“Everything fine,” he told Fleur. “Ollivander settled in, Mum and Dad say hello. Ginny send you all her love. Fred and George are driving Muriel up the wall, they’re still operating an Owl Order business out of her back room. It cheered her up to have her tiara back, though. She said she thought we’d stolen it.”

“Ah, she eez _charmante_ , your aunt,” said Fleur crossly, waving her wand and causing the dirty plates to rise and form a stack in midair. She caught them and marched out of the room.

“Oh, Sarah, I nearly forget,” Bill said, rummaging in his pocket. “Fred wanted me to give this to you.”

He handed her a small piece of parchment. She unfolded it curiously and didn’t bother trying to hold back the smile that broke out on her face. Fred had drawn an extremely ugly depiction of a dead Voldemort with the words ‘YOU CAN DO IT’ in large letters at the top of the page. A small ‘love you – F’ was cramped into the bottom corner. She held it tightly and swatted Draco’s hand away when he made a grab for it.

“Mind your own business, wanker,” she said, still smiling brightly.

“But now I’m really curious,” he complained. “Please show me!”

“No!”

“ _Pretty_ please?”

“Shut the fuck up, Draco!”

There was a bang on the front door. Everyone’s heads turned towards it. Fleur came running out of the kitchen, looking frightened; Bill jumped to his feet, his wand pointing at the door, Sarah, Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione did the same. Silently, Griphook slipped beneath the table out of sight.

“Who is it?” Bill called.

“It is I, Remus John Lupin!” called a voice over the howling wind. Sarah experienced a thrill of fear mingled with happiness; what had happened? “I am a werewolf, married to Sirius Black, and you, the Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency! I have Sirius here with me.”

“Lupin,” muttered Bill, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open.

Remus fell over the threshold, closely followed by Sirius. He was white-faced, wrapped in a travelling cloak, his greying hair windswept. Sirius’ hair was in disarray but his grey eyes were bright. They straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there, then Remus cried aloud, “It’s a boy! We’ve named him Ted, after Dora’s father!”

Sarah shrieked.

She raced forward and jumped at her godfathers, grasping them both tightly as they swayed to keep their balance.

“Tonk had the baby!” she exclaimed, releasing them.

“Yes, yes, she’s had the baby!” shouted Sirius, picking Sarah up and spinning her around. “You’re a big sister now!”

All around the table came cried of delight, sighs of relief; Hermione and Fleur both squealed, “Congratulations!” and Ron said, “Blimey, a baby!” as if he had never heard of such a thing before.

“Yes – yes – a boy,” said Remus again, who seemed dazed by his own happiness. Sirius released Sarah and strode towards Harry and Draco, pulling them both into a hug.

“You’ll be godfathers?” he said as he released them.

“U – Us?” stammered Harry, glancing at Draco in shock.

“You, of course – “ laughed Sirius. “Dora quite agrees.”

Sarah felt a hand land on her shoulder and turned to see Remus smiling down at her.

“And you’ll be godmother, right?” he asked.

Sarah gaped at him. Her expression was identical to Harry and Draco’s.

“Yes, definitely -!” she said.

Harry and Draco were nodding excitedly and Sirius hauled them into another rough hug.

“But why me?” Sarah asked Remus quietly.

“It was only fitting,” he replied warmly. “As my goddaughter, there was no one else I would have wanted as my son’s godmother.”

Sarah jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I’ll be the best godmother ever,” she promised.

Remus laughed and ruffled her hair slightly.

“We’re also going to need you to help him with his powers,” Remus added. “He’s taken after Dora – he’s a Metamorphmagus. His hair was black when he was born but I swear it turned ginger before we left.”

“Mother said my hair started changing colour the day I was born,” Sarah laughed. “It was a horror to keep it secret from my father.”

“That’s what Andy said,” piped up Sirius from across the room.

Bill had hurried to fetch wine and Fleur was now distributing glasses to everyone. They stood and raised them high in a toast.

“To Teddy James Lupin-Black,” said Remus, Harry’s face lit up extraordinarily, “a great wizard in the making!”

The wind buffeted the little cottage and the fire leapt and crackled, and Bill was soon opening another bottle of wine. Remus and Sirius’s news seemed to have taken them out of themselves, removed them for a while from their state of siege: tidings of new life were exhilarating. Only the goblin seemed untouched by the suddenly festive atmosphere, and after a while he slunk back to the bedroom he now occupied alone. Sarah thought she was the only one who had noticed this, until she saw Bill’s eyes following the goblin up the stairs.

“Sarah – what’s that on your arm?” Remus demanded suddenly.

Sarah wrenched her attention away from the stairs and looked down at her arm and saw, to her horror, that she had pushed up her sleeves, revealing the scars left by Bellatrix.

“Erm…” she said. Both Sirius and Remus’s eyes were locked onto hers and she couldn’t find it in herself to lie. “They’re from your dear cousin, Sirius. We ran into her at Malfoy Manor.”

“Why were you at Malfoy Manor?” demanded Sirius.

“We had a run-in with Snatchers,” Ron explained, shooting Harry a look.

“I’m okay now,” Sarah assured the worried adults. “Don’t worry about it. Worry about your son who is currently at home! I hate to see you leave but you should really get back.”

Remus narrowed his eyes at her but let the issue go. It wasn’t long before they were all exchanging hugs and warm goodbyes, Sarah holding onto her godfather extra tight, and then the pair was leaving into the wild night.

Sarah sagged into an armchair as everyone began cleaning up the table and collecting stray goblets.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked her quietly, sitting on the arm of the chair.

“I’m brilliant, Hermione,” Sarah said with a small smile. “I’m so happy for them – a little boy!”

“But?” Hermione prompted.

“ _But_ …” Sarah sighed. “But now we need to win more than ever. To give children like Teddy a chance at a good, violence-free life.”

“And we will.”

Neither girl had noticed Harry appeared next to them and they both jumped slightly.

“We will,” he repeated firmly. “And we’ll all live to see Teddy grow into a wonderful person and give Sirius and Remus grey hairs.”

“With you lot as godparents, he definitely will,” Ron laughed, joining them. Draco was with them within a moment and the five of them smiled happily at each other. They hadn’t felt this free and happy in so long and they were going to cherish it, however long it lasted.

***

Their plans were made, their preparations complete; in the smallest bedroom a single, long blond hair (plucked from the sweater Sarah had been wearing at Malfoy Manor) lay curled in a small glass phial on the mantlepiece. Beside that, the black, form-fitting robes Sarah’s had transfigured hung up on the door.

“And you’ll be using her actual wand,” said Harry to Sarah, nodding towards Bellatrix’s walnut wand, “so I reckon you’ll be pretty convincing.”

Sarah nodded and picked up the wand with a hand she was proud to see wasn’t shaking.

“I hate this thing,” she said in a low voice. “I really hate it. It feels all wrong. It feels like a bit of _her_.”

“It’ll probably help you get in character, though,” said Ron. “Think what that wand’s done!”

“That’s my point!” snapped Sarah. “This is the wand that tortured Neville’s mum and dad, and tortured me and Hermione. I think I’m allowed to be disgusted by it.”

“I think Hermione will have the most difficulty,” Draco commented lightly, causing Sarah to stop glaring at Ron. “Pretending to be my mother is no easy thing.”

“She just needs to stand there and hang onto your arm,” Sarah said. “It’s a good thing you look so much like your father.”

“Good thing, sure,” Draco muttered sarcastically.

The door of the bedroom opened and they all turned to see Griphook enter. Harry nodded at him and said, “We’ve just been checking the last-minute stuff, Griphook. We’ve told Bill and Fleur we’re leaving tomorrow, and we’ve told them not to get up to see us off.”

They had been firm on this point, because Sarah and Hermione would need to transform into Bellatrix and Narcissa, respectively, before they left, and the less that Bill and Fleur knew or suspected about what they were about to do, the better. As they had lost Perkins’s old tent on the night that the Snatchers caught them, Bill had lent them another one. It was now packed inside Hermione’s beaded bag, who had protected it by also showing it in her shoe. The boys had been most impressed when the two girls had admitted what they had done.

Though she would miss Bill and Fleur, not to mention the home comforts they had enjoyed over the last few weeks, Sarah was looking forward to escaping the confinement of Shell Cottage. She was tired of trying to make sure that they were not overheard, tired of being shut in the tiny, dark bedroom. Most of all, she longed to be rid of Griphook. However, precisely how and when they were to part from the goblin without handing over Gryffindor’s sword remained a question to which Sarah had no answer. It had been impossible to decide how they were going to do it, because the goblin rarely left the five of them alone together for more than five minutes at a time. Ron had eloquently stated, “We’ll just have to wing it, mates.”

Sarah slept badly that night. Lying awake in the early hours, she thought back to the way she had felt the night before they had infiltrated the Ministry and Magic and remembered a determination, almost an excitement. Now she was experiencing jolts of anxiety, nagging doubts; she could not shake off the fear that it was all going to go wrong. She kept telling herself that their plan was good, that Griphook knew what they were facing, that they were well-prepared for all the difficulties they were likely to encounter; yet still she felt uneasy. Once or twice she heard Hermione stir, and was sure that she, too, was awake, but they did not speak.

It was a relief when six o’clock arrived and they could slip out of their bed, dress in semi-darkness, and stand in front of the mirror, both looking extremely unenthusiastic about the next step.

“Here goes nothing,” Hermione muttered, downing the last of the Polyjuice. She shivered in disgust as her features began to bubble and change. Within seconds, Narcissa Malfoy was staring back at Sarah. “Your turn.”

“Don’t remind me,” murmured Sarah, turning to face the mirror. She closed and eyes and concentrated. Against every fibre in her body telling her to stop, she let her features shift into the harsh ones seared into her memory. Heavy, dark hair tumbled down her back in wild curls and she opened her eyes to see dark, soulless ones staring back at her. “I think I may be sick.”

“You’re going to have to hold it in,” apologised Hermione. “We need to go.”

Sarah looked up at the stars still glimmering palely in the dark sky and wished that they were doing anything else rather than what they had planned. Harry, Draco and Ron were waiting next to Dobby’s grave with Griphook. They all cringed slightly when they saw Sarah and Hermione.

“That’s extremely unsettling,” Draco announced, peering at Hermione. “I feel as if you ought to start scolding me for breaking a vase or something.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and said, “Stay still, darling.” She pointed her wand at his face and began to slowly transfigure his features until he looked nearly identical to Lucius. “There, you look terrifying.”

“If you can’t reverse this, I’ll kill you,” Draco threatened.

Beside them, Hermione snorted as she worked on Ron’s disguise. His hair was now long and wavy, he had a thick, brown beard and moustache, no freckles, a short, broad nose and heavy eyebrows.

“How does he look?” Hermione asked.

“Well, he’s not my type, but he’ll do,” said Harry. “Shall we go, then?”

All five of them glanced back at Shell Cottage, lying dark and silent under the fading stars, then turned and began to walk towards the point, just beyond the boundary wall, where the Fidelius Charm stopped working and they would be able to Disapparate. Once past the gate, Griphook spoke.

“I should climb up now, Harry Potter, I think?”

Harry bent down and the goblin clambered on to his back, his hands linked in front of Harry’s throat. Sarah pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of the beaded bag and threw it over them both.

“Perfect,” she said, bending down to check Harry’s feet. “I can’t see a thing. Let’s go.”

Sarah turned on the spot, concentrating with all her might on the Leaky Cauldron, the inn that was the entrance to Diagon Alley. Seconds later, Sarah’s feet found pavement and she opened her eyes on Charing Cross Road. Muggles bustled past wearing the hangdog expressions of early morning, quite unconscious of the little inn’s existence.

“Let’s go,” Sarah said in Bellatrix’s voice as Draco, Ron and Hermione appeared beside her.

The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted. Tom, the stooped and toothless landlord, was polishing glasses behind the bar counter; a couple of warlocks having a muttered conversation in the far corner glanced at Sarah and drew back into the shadows.

“Madam Lestrange,” murmured Tom, and as Sarah passed he inclined his head subserviently.

She ignored him and snapped at the warlocks in the corner, “What are you looking at?” They shrunk back even further out of sight as she marched out into the tiny backyard.

“Damn, you’re good at that,” Ron muttered.

Sarah drew Bellatrix’s wand and tapped a brick in the nondescript wall in front of them. At once the bricks began to whirl and spin: a hole appeared in the middle of them, which grew wider and wider, finally forming an archway on to the narrow, cobbled street that was Diagon Alley. Sarah settled a sneer on her face and sauntered forward.

It was quiet, barely time for the shops to open, and there were hardly any shoppers abroad. The crooked, cobbled street was much altered, now, from the bustling place Sarah was so familiar with. More shops than ever were boarded-up, though several new establishments dedicated to the Dark Arts had been created since her last visit. Harry’s face glared down at them from posters plastered over many windows, always captioned with the words _Undesirable Number One_.

A number of ragged people sat huddled in doorways. He heard them moaning to a few passers-by, pleading for gold, insisting that they were really wizards. One mane had a bloody bandage over his eye.

As they set off along the street, the beggars glimpsed Sarah and Draco and Hermione. They seemed to melt away before them, drawing hoods over their faces and fleeing as fast as they could. Sarah looked after them disdainfully, until the man with the bloodied bandage came staggering right across her path.

“My children!” he bellowed, pointing at her. His voice was cracked, high-pitched and he sounded distraught. “Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know, _you know_!”

Sarah drew her wand and brandished it at him, shrieking, “Get away from me you _filth_! Your children got what they deserved. Filthy Mudbloods!” She added Bellatrix’s signature cackle and tried to ignore how sick it made her feel.

The man lunged at her, reaching for her throat: then, with a bang and a burst of light he was thrown backwards on to the ground, unconscious. Draco stood there, looking almost bored, his wand held loosely in his hand. Faces appeared at the windows on either side of the street, while a little knot of prosperous-looking passers-by gathered their robes about them and broke into gentle trots, keen to vacate the scene.

“I had it handled, _Lucius_ ,” hissed Sarah.

Their entrance into Diagon Alley could hardly have been more conspicuous; for a moment Sarah wondered whether it might not be better to leave, now, and try to think of a different plan. Before they could move or consult one another, however, they heard a cry from behind them.

“Why, Madam Lestrange! Lucius! Madam Malfoy!”

Sarah whirled around as a tall, thin wizard with a crown of bushy, grey hair and a long, sharp nose strode towards them.

“Travers,” greeted Sarah. She recognised him from one of the many Malfoy parties. Not only that, but his voice revealed that he was one of the Death Eaters who had been summoned to Xenophilius’s house.

“I must confess that I am surprised to see you three out and about,” Travers said coolly.

“And why would that be?” Draco asked in a lazy drawl so similar to his father’s that Sarah vowed to give him an extra cup of tea as a reward.

“Well,” Travers coughed, “I _heard_ that the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the…ah… _escape_.”

“The Dark Lord forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past,” said Sarah, in a magnificent imitation of Bellatrix’s most contemptuous manner. “Perhaps your credit is not as good him as ours is, Travers.”

Thought the Death Eater looked offended, he also seemed less suspicious. He glanced down at the man Draco had just Stunned.

“How did it offend you?”

“It does not matter, it will not do so again,” said Hermione coolly.

“Some of these Wandless can be troublesome,” said Travers. “While they do nothing but beg I have no objection, but one of them actually asked me to plead her case at the Ministry last week – “

“Do you have a purpose to stopping me or are you wasting our time, Travers?” Sarah interrupted cruelly. “We have places we need to be.”

Travers seemed a little taken aback at that, and he stammered out a response.

“Er – er – I was just inquiring about how you all were doing after the – “

“And you have done so,” Sarah said coldly, cutting him off once again. “We must be getting to Gringotts.”

“Alas, I also,” said Travers. “Shall we?” he gestured Sarah forward and she had no choice but to feel into step beside him, Hermione and Draco behind her with Ron sloping along behind them.

A watchful Death Eater was the very last thing they needed, and the worst of it was, with Travers marching at what he believed to be Bellatrix’s side, there was no means for Sarah to communicate with Harry or the others. All too soon they arrived at the foot of the marble steps leading up the great bronze doors. As Griphook had already warned them, the liveried goblins who usually flanked the entrance had been replaced by two wizards, both of whom were clutching long, thin golden rods.

“Ah, Probity Probes,” sighed Travers theatrically, “so crude – but effective!”

And he set off up the steps, nodding left and right to the wizards, who raised the gold rods and passed them up and down his body. The Probes, Sarah knew, detected spells of concealment and hidden magical objects. She hoped that Harry had done his part as she climbed the stairs, her long, black hair rippling behind her.

“One moment, Madam,” said the guard, raising his Probe.

“But you’ve just done that!” snapped Sarah in Bellatrix’s commanding, arrogant voice. Travers looked round, eyebrows raised. The guard was confused. He stared down at the thin, golden Probe and then at his companion, who said in a slightly dazed voice, “Yeah, you’ve just checked them, Marius.”

Sarah shook her head and stalked forward, Draco, Hermione and Ron at her side.

“Honestly, completely hopeless,” she complained. “You would think that here they would at least have _competent_ workers.”

Two goblins stood before the inner doors, which were made of silver and which carried the poem warning of dire retribution to potential thieves. Within seconds they were standing in the cast marble hall of the bank.

The long counter was manned by goblins sitting on high stools, serving the first customers of the day. Sarah, Draco, Hermione, Ron and Travers headed towards an old goblin who was examining a thick gold coin through an eyeglass.

“Madam Lestrange!” said the goblin, evidently startled. “Dear me! How – how many I help you today?”

“I wish to enter my vault,” said Sarah.

The old goblin seemed to recoil a little. Travers was hanging back, watching and several other goblins had looked up from their work to stare at Hermione.

“Hello?” Sarah snapped.

“You have…identification?” asked the goblin.

“Of course, I have identification,” snapped Sarah. “But I have never been asked for identification before!”

“Your wand will do, Madam,” said the goblin. He held out a slightly trembling hand and in a dreadful blast of realisation, Sarah knew that the goblins of Gringotts were aware that Bellatrix’s wand had been stolen.

Sarah had no choice, she handed over the wand.

The goblin took Bellatrix’s wand, examined it closely and then said, “Ah, you have had a new wand made, Madam Lestrange!”

Sarah opened her mouth to reply but snapped it shut at the feeling of Hermione’s hand touching her arm quickly.

“A new wand?” said Travers, approaching the counter again; still the goblins all around were watching. “But how could you have done, which wandmaker did you use?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Sarah drawled.

“Oh, yes, I see,” said Travers. “Yes, very handsome. And is it working well? I always think wands require a little breaking in, don’t you?”

Sarah turned back to the goblin.

“Can we go now?” she demanded. “We are expected back soon.”

The old goblin behind the counter clapped his hands and younger goblin approached.

“I shall need the Clankers,” he told the goblin, who dashed away and returned a moment later with a leather bag that seemed to be full of jangling metal, which he handed to his senior. “Good, good! So, if you will follow me, Madam Lestrange, Mr and Mrs Malfoy,” said the old goblin, hopping down off his stool and vanishing from sight, “I shall take you to your vault.”

“Finally,” Sarah said as he appeared around the end of the counter, jogging happily towards them, the contents of the leather bag still jingling. Travers was now standing quite still with his mouth hanging wide open. Ron was drawing attention to this odd phenomenon by regarding Travers with confusion.

“Wait – Bogrod!”

Another goblin came scurrying around the counter.

“We have instructions,” he said, with a bow to Sarah, “forgive me, Madam Lestrange, but there have been special orders regarding the vault of Lestrange.”

“I am aware,” she replied contemptuously.

The goblin whispered urgently in Bogrod’s ear but the older goblin shook him off.

“I am aware of the instructions. Madam Lestrange wishes to visit her vault…very old family…old clients…this way, please…”

And, still clanking, he hurried towards one of the many doors leading off the hall. Sarah looked at Travers, who suddenly straightened and closed his mouth, following them as the group began to go in the direction Bogrod had gone.

“We’re in trouble, they suspect,” said Harry, as the door slammed behind them and he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. Griphook jumped down from his shoulders; neither Travers nor Bogrod showed the slighted surprise at the sudden appearance of Harry Potter in their midst. “They’re Imperiused,” he added at the other’s confused glances. Sarah nodded in appreciation.

“Let’s go,” she said. “We’ve gotten this far, might as well keep going.”

“Good!” said Griphook. “So, we need Bogrod to control the cart; I no longer have the authority. But there will not be room for the wizard.”

Harry pointed his wand at Travers.

“ _Imperio_!”

The wizard turned and set off along the dark track at a smart pace.

“What are you making him do?”

“Hide,” said Harry, as he pointed his wand at Bogrod, who whistled to summon a little cart which came trundling along the tracks toward them out of the darkness. Sarah was sure she could hear shouting behind them in the main hall as they all clambered into it, Bogrod in the front with Griphook and the five others crammed together in the back.

With a jerk the cart moved off, gathering speed: they hurtled past Travers, who was wriggling into a crack in the wall, then the cart began twisting and turning through the labyrinthine passages, sloping downwards all the time. Sarah could not hear anything over the rattling of the cart on the tracks; her hair flew behind her as they swerved between stalactites, flying even deeper into the earth, but she kept glancing back. They might as well have left enormous footprints behind them; the more she thought about it, the more foolish it seemed to have disguised herself as Bellatrix, to have brought along Bellatrix’s wand, when the Death Eaters knew who had stolen it –

They stook a hairpin bend at speed and saw ahead of them, with seconds to spare, a waterfall pounding over the track. Sarah heard Griphook shout, “No!” but there was no braking: they zoomed through it. Water filled Sarah’s eyes and mouth: she could not see or breath; then, with an awful lurch, the cart flipped over and they were all thrown out of it. Sarah heard the cart smash into pieces against the passage wall, heard Hermione shriek something and felt herself glide back towards the ground as though weightless, landing painlessly on the rocky passage floor.

“C-Cushioning Charm,” Hermione spluttered, as Ron pulled her to her feet. To Sarah’s horror, she saw that they both looked normal again. She whirled around and saw that Draco, too, was no longer Polyjuiced.

“The Thief’s Downfall!” said Griphook, clambering to his feet and looking back at the deluge on to the tracks, which Sarah knew, now, had been more than water. “It washes away all enchantment, all magical concealment! They know there are imposters in Gringotts, they have set off defences against us!”

Sarah patted her face to confirm that it was her normal features on display. She checked that she still had her hand and saw Hermione doing the same. Then she turned to see Bogrod shaking his head in bewilderment: the Thief’s Downfall seemed to have lifted the Imperius Curse.

“ _Imperio!”_ Sarah said, pointing her wand at the goblin. Bogrod submitted to her will as she felt a sense of power flow through her arm and out of her wand. Ron hurried to pick up the leather bag of metal tools.

“I think I can hear people coming!” said Draco, and he pointed his wand at the waterfall and cried, ” _Protego!”_ They saw the Shield Charm break the flow of enchanted water as it flew up the passageway.

“Good thinking,” said Harry, “lead thew ay, Griphook!”

“How are we going to get out again?” Ron asked, as they hurried on foot into the darkness after the goblin, Bogrod panting in their wake like an old dog.

“Let’s worry about that when we have to,” said Sarah. She was trying to listen; she thought she could hear something clanking and moving around nearby. “Griphook, how much further?”

“Not far…not far…”

And they turned a corner and saw the thing for which Sarah had been prepared, but which still brought all of them to a halt.

A gigantic dragon was tethered to the ground in front of them, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the place. Sarah recognised the entrances to her vault and the Malfoys’. The beast’s scales had turned pale and flaky during its long incarceration under the ground; its eyes were milky punk, both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. Its great, spiked wings, folded close to its body, would have filled the chamber if it spread them, and when it turned its ugly head towards them, it roared with a noise that made the rock tremble, opened its mouth and spat a jet of fire that sent them running back up the passageway.

“It is partially blind,” panted Griphook, “but even more savage for that. However, we have the means to control it. It has learned to expect pain when the Clankers come. It will retreat, and Bogrod must place his palm upon the door of the vault.”

They advanced around the corner again, shaking the Clankers and the noise echoed off the rocky walls, grossly magnified, so that the inside of Sarah’s skull seemed to vibrate with the din. The dragon let out another hoarse roar, then retreated. Sarah could see it trembling, and as they drew nearer she saw the scars made by vicious slashes across its face, and guessed that it had been taught to fear hot swords when it heard the sound of the Clankers. Sarah was horrified.

“Make him press his hand to the door!” Griphook urged Sarah, who turned her wand again upon Bogrod. The old goblin obeyed, pressing his palm to the wood, and the door of the vault melted away to reveal a cave-like opening crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins, goblets, silver armour, the skins of strange creatures, some with long spines, others with drooping wings, potions in jewelled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown.

“Search, fast!” said Harry as they all hurried inside the vault.

“Don’t touch anything!” cried Draco. “It will burn you!”

Harry had described Hufflepuff’s cup to them all, but if it was the other, unknown Horcrux that resided in this vault, they did not know what it looked like. She barely had time to glance around, however, before there was a muffled clunk from behind them: the door had reappeared, sealing them inside the vault, and they were plunged into total darkness.

“No matter, Bogrod will be able to release us!” said Griphook, as Ron gave a shout of surprise. “Light your wands, can’t you? And Hurry, we have very little time!”

“ _Lumos_!”

Sarah shone her lit wand around the vault: its beam fell upon glittering jewels, she saw the fake sword of Gryffindor lying on a high shelf amongst a jumble of chains. The others had lit their wands too and were now examining the piles of objects surrounding them.

Just then, Ron accidentally nudged a fallen goblet with his foot and twenty more exploded into being while Ron hopped on the spot, part of his shoe burned away by contact with the hot metal.

“Stand still, don’t move!” said Hermione, clutching at Ron.

“Just look around!” said Harry. “Remember, the cup’s small and gold, it’s got a badger engraved on it, two handles – otherwise see if you can spot Ravenclaw’s symbol anywhere, the eagle – “

They directed their wands into every nook and crevice, turning cautiously on the spot. It was impossible not to brush up against anything; Sarah sent a great cascade of fake Galleons on to the ground where they joined the goblets, and now there was scarcely room to place their feet, and the flowing gold blazed with heat, so that the vault felt like a furnace. Sarah’s wandlight passed over shields and goblin-made helmets set on shelves rising to the ceiling. Suddenly, Draco let out a shout.

“ _It’s up there, it’s up there!”_

They all pointed their wands high in the air, so that the little gold cup sparkled in a five-way spotlight: the cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, which had passed into the possession of Hepzibah Smith, from whom it had been stolen by Tom Riddle.

“And how the hell are we going to get up there without touching anything?”

“How much do you trust me, Harry?” Sarah asked. “Hermione, give Harry the sword.”

Once Hermione had thrown him the sword, Sarah said, “Try touching something with the sword.”

Harry touched the tip of the blade to a silver flagon nearby, which did not multiply.

“Brilliant,” muttered Sarah. She turned to Draco. “I’m going to need your help. We’ll Levitate Harry to the cup and he’ll grab it with the sword, okay?”

Draco nodded and they cast simultaneously, sending Harry flying into the air where he knocked against a shelf of objects. Scorching hot metal rained down on them as Sarah and Draco tried to direct Harry closer to the cup.

Harry thrust the sword through the handle of Hufflepuff’s cup, hooking it on to the blade. With screams of pain, Sarah, Draco, Ron and Hermione were knocked aside into other objects by the avalanche of gold, which also began to replicate. Half-buried in a rising tide of red-hot treasure, they struggled and yelled as Sarah and Draco tried to lower Harry safely down.

“ _Impervius!”_ screeched Hermione, in an attempt to protect them all from the burning metal.

Then the worst scream yet made Sarah look around. They were all waist-deep in treasure, struggling to keep Bogrod from slipping beneath the rising tide, but Griphook had sunk out of sight and nothing but the tips of a few long fingers were left in view.

Harry seized Griphook’s fingers and pulled. The blistered goblin emerged by degrees, howling. Harry threw the sword to Sarah and grabbed it, Draco snatching the cup from the air as it flew off the blade. He cried out as it began to burn his flesh but did not relinquish it, even while countless Hufflepuff cups burst from his fist, raining down upon him and Sarah. The entrance of the vault opened up again and they found themselves sliding uncontrollably on an expanding avalanche of fiery gold and silver that bore them into the outer chamber.

Hardly aware of the pain from the burns covering her body, Sarah shoved the sword into her bag and jumped to her feet. Around her, Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione were doing the same, their wands raised. Griphook had sprinted for cover amongst the surrounding goblins, crying, “Thieves! Help! Thieves!” He vanished into the midst of the advancing crowd, all of whom were holding daggers and who accepted him without questions.

Slipping on the hot metal, Sarah directed her wand at the crowd.

“ _Stupefy!”_ she bellowed, and the others joined it: jets of red light flew into the crowd of goblins and some toppled over, but others advanced and Sarah saw several wizard guards running round the corner.

The tethered dragon let out a roar and a gush of flame flew over the goblins: the wizards fled, doubled-up, back the way they had come. Harry screamed, “ _Relashio!”_ at the thick cuffs chaining the beast to the floor.

“Are you crazy?” Sarah shouted as Harry sprinted toward the blind dragon.

“Get up, climb up, come on – “

The dragon had not realised that it was free. Sarah raced forward and leapt onto its back, her foot finding the crook of its hind leg and she pulled herself up fully onto it hindquarters. Harry helped heave her further up the spine so that Draco, Ron and Hermione could clamber on after her. A second after Ron had climbed on, the dragon became aware that it was untethered.

With a roar it reared: Sarah dug in her knees, clutching as tightly as she could to the jagged scales the wings opened, knocking the shrieking goblins aside, and it soared into the air. The five of them scarped against the ceiling as it dived towards the passage opening, while the pursing goblins hurled daggers that glanced off its flanks.

“We’ll never get out, it’s too big!” Hermione screamed, but the dragon opened its mouth and belched flame again, blasting the tunnel, whose floors and ceiling cracked and crumbled. By sheer force, the dragon clawed and fought its way through. Sarah’s eyes were shut tight against the heat and dust: deafened by the crashing of rock and the dragon’s roars, she could only cling to its back, expecting to be shaken off at any moment; then she heard Draco yelling, “ _Defodio!”_

He was helping the dragon enlarge the passageway, carving out the ceiling as it struggled upwards, towards the fresher air, away from the shrieking and clanking goblins. Sarah, Hermione, Ron and Harry copied her, blasting the ceiling apart with more gouging spells. They passed the underground lake, and the great crawling, snarling beast seemed to sense freedom and space ahead of it, and behind them the passage was full of the dragon’s thrashing, spiked tail, of great lumps of rock, gigantic, fractured stalactites, and the clanking of the goblins seemed to be growing more muffled, while ahead, the dragon’s fire kept their progress clear –

And then at last, by the combined force of their spells and the dragon’s brute strength, they had blasted their way out of the passage into the marble hallway. Goblins and wizards shrieked and ran for cover, and finally the dragon had room to stretch its wings: turning its horned head toward the cool outside air it could smell beyond the entrance, it took off, and with Sarah, Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione still clinging to its back, it forced its way through the metal doors, leaving them buckled and hanging from their hinges as it staggered into Diagon Alley and launched itself into the sky.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

There was no means of steering; the dragon could not see where it was going, and Sarah knew that if it turned sharply or rolled in midair they would find it impossible to cling on to its broad back. Nevertheless, as they climbed higher and higher, London unfurling below them like a grey and green map, Sarah’s overwhelming feeling was of gratitude for an escape that had seemed impossible. Crouching low over the beast’s neck, she clung tight to the metallic scales, and the cool breeze was soothing on her burned and blistered skin, the dragon’s wings beating the air like the sails of a windmill. Behind her, whether from delight or fear she could not tell, Draco kept swearing at the top of his voice, and Hermione seemed to be sobbing. Harry’s pale face was directly opposite hers; he had an expression of pure relief and joy tugging at his lips. Sarah was honestly leaning more towards Hermione’s coping mechanism. She just wanted to crawl up into a ball and cry for days.

After five minutes or so, Sarah lost some of her immediate dread that the dragon was going to throw them off, for it seemed intent on nothing but getting as far away from its underground prison as possible, but the question of how and when they were to dismount remained rather frightening. She had no idea how long dragons could fly without landing, nor how this particular dragon, which could barely see, would locate a good place to put down.

The dragon seemed to crave cooler and fresher air: it climbed steadily until they were flying through wisps of chilly cloud and Sarah could no longer make out the little coloured dots which were cars pouring in and out of the capital. On and on they flew, over countryside parcelled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscape like strips of matt and glossy ribbon.

“What do you reckon it’s looking for?” Ron yelled, as they flew further and further north.

“No idea,” Harry bellowed back.

Sarah’s hands were numb with cold but she did not dare attempt to shift her grip. She had been wondering for some time what they would do if they saw the coast sail beneath them, if the dragon headed for open sea: she was cold and numb, not to mention desperately hungry and thirsty. When, she wondered, had the beast itself last eaten? Surely it would need sustenance before long? And what if, at that point, it realised it had five highly edible humans sitting on its back?

The sun slipped lower in the sky, which was turning indigo; and still the dragon flew, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath them, its enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a great, dark cloud. Every part of Sarah ached with the effort of holding on to the dragon’s back.

“Is it my imagination,” shouted Draco, after a considerable stretch of silence, “or are we losing height?”

Sarah looked down and say deep-green mountains and lakes, coppery in the sunset. The landscape seemed to grow larger and more detailed as she squinted over the side of the dragon and she wondered whether it had divined the presence of fresh water by the flashes of reflected sunlight.

Lower and lower the dragon flew, in great, spiralling circles, honing in, it seemed, upon one of the smaller lakes.

“I saw we jump when it gets low enough!” Harry called to them. “Straight into the water before it realises we’re here!”

“I’d really prefer not to have survived all that just to be eaten by a dragon!” cried Sarah, eyeing the water with rising fear. She could now see the dragon’s wide, yellow underbelly rippling in the surface of the water.

“NOW!”

Sarah slithered over the side of the dragon and plummeted, feet first, towards the surface of the lake, eyes clenched tightly shut. The drop was greater than she had thought and she hit the water hard, plunging like a stone into a freezing, green, reed-filled world. She kicked towards the surface and emerged, panting, to see enormous ripples emanating in circles from the places where Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione had fallen. The dragon did not seem to have noticed anything: it was already fifty feet away, swooping low over the lake to scoop up water in its scarred snout. As the others emerged, spluttering and gasping from the depths of the lake, the dragon flew on, its wings beating hard, and landed at last on a distant bank.

They struck out for the opposite shore. The lake did not seem to be deep: soon it was more a question of fighting their way through reeds and mud than swimming, and finally they flopped, sodden, panting and exhausted on to slippery grass.

Sarah and Hermione collapsed against each other, coughing and shuddering. Harry leapt to his feet and started casting the usual protective spells around them, Draco joined him at a more sedate pace.

“Dittany…dittany…” Sarah muttered under her breath, searching through her bag with shaking hands. “Where’s the fucking dittany!”

At last, she found the tiny bottle and drew it out with a cry of triumph. The others crowded around her and she realised just how bad they all looked. They all had angry red burns over their faces and arms, and their clothing was singed away in places. Sarah quickly cast some spells and dabbed essence of dittany on them before doing herself and sighing in relief. Hermione pulled out five bottles of pumpkin juice and clean, dry clothes for all of them. They changed and then gulped down the juice.

“Well, the good news is,” said Draco finally, who was sitting watching the skin on his hands regrow, “we got the Horcrux. On the down side – “

“- no sword,” said Harry.

“Actually, I grabbed it,” Sarah said, pulling her bag toward her once more. “I put it in after Harry threw – “

She cut off and stared at the contents of her bag.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

“It’s gone,” Sarah said, looking at up them in shock. “I definitely put it in here. It’s vanished.”

“How could it have just vanished?” cried Ron.

“I don’t know, Ron!” she exclaimed, frantically searching through the deep abyss of her bag. “But it’s _definitely_ not here!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said, dropping to the ground and pulling out the Horcrux. Glinting in the sun, it drew their eyes as they swigged their bottles of juice.

“At least we can’t wear it this time, that’d look a bit weird hanging round our necks,” said Ron, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Hermione looked across the lake to the far bank, where the dragon was still drinking.

“What’ll happen to it, do you think?” she asked. “Will it be all right?”

“You sound like Hagrid,” said Ron. “It’s a dragon, Hermione, it can look after itself. It’s us we need to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know how to break this to you,” said Ron, “but I think they _might_ have noticed we broke into Gringotts.”

All five of them started to laugh, and once started, it was difficult to stop. Sarah’s ribs aches, she felt light-headed with hunger, but she lay back on the grass beneath the reddening sky and laughed until her throat was raw.

“What are we going to do, though?” said Hermione finally, hiccoughing herself back to seriousness. “He’ll know, won’t he? You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes!”

“Maybe they’ll be too scared to tell him?” said Ron hopefully. “Maybe they’ll cover up – “

“Unlikely,” Draco said, shaking his head. He stretched his legs out in front of him and winced. “He probably already knows.”

Harry suddenly clutched his head and fell back against the grass, face scrunched up in pain.

“That one looks bad,” Sarah commented worriedly. “Should we do something?”

“No,” Draco said. “He’ll come out of it on his own.”

Sarah nodded and drew her wand gingerly again. Wracking her mind back to her lessons with Pomfrey, she cast a muscle relaxing spell and nearly cried with relief as the pain left her body. She shot one at each of her friends, who jumped first with shock and then relief. Harry came slowly back to them and groaned when he noticed their worried faces.

“He knows,” he said, struggling upright with the help of Draco and Ron. “He knows, and he’s going to check where the others are, and the last one,” he got to his feet, “is at Hogwarts. I knew it. I _knew_ it.”

“Do you know what it is?” Sarah asked, jumping to her feet as well.

Harry shook his head. “We need to get going,” he said firmly. “Can you image what he’s going to do once he realises the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn’t safe enough?”

“But how are we going to get in?” asked Draco, already gripping Harry and Sarah’s hands tightly.

“We’ll go to Hogsmeade,” Sarah said, “and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school’s like. Everyone under the Cloak.”

“But we don’t fit – “ Hermione said.

“It’ll be dark, no one’s going to notice our feet.”

The flapping of enormous wings echoed across the black water: the dragon had drunk its fill and risen into the air. They paused in their preparations to watch it climb higher and higher, no black against the rapidly darkening sky, until it vanished over a nearby mountain. Hermione and Ron walked forward and took their places next to the other three. Harry pulled the Cloak down as far as it could go, and together, they turned on the spot into the crushing darkness.

***

Sarah’s feet touched road. She saw the achingly familiar Hogsmeade High Street: dark shop fronts, and the outline of black mountains beyond the village, and the curve in the road ahead that led off towards Hogwarts, and light spilling from the windows of the Three Broomsticks, and with a lurch of the heart, she remembered what it was like only a year ago, filled with laughing students – and then, even as she relaxed her grip upon Draco and Harry’s arms, it happened.

The air was rent by a scream that sounded like a banshee: it tore at every nerve in Sarah’s body and she knew immediately that their appearance had caused it. even as she looked at the others beneath the Cloak, the door of the Three Broomsticks burst open and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eaters dashed into the street, their wands aloft.

Sarah seized Ron’s wrist as he raised his wand. There were too many of them to Stun: even attempting it would give away their position. One of the Death Eaters waved his wand and the scream stopped, still echoing around the distant mountains.

“ _Accio Cloak!”_ roared one of the Death Eaters.

Harry seized its folds, but it made no attempt to escape: the Summoning Charm had not worked on it.

“Not under your wrapper, then, Potter?” yelled the Death Eater who had tried the charm, and then, to his fellows, “Spread out. He’s here.”

Six of the Death Eaters ran toward them: Sarah, Draco, Ron, Harry and Hermione backed, as quickly as possible, down the nearest side street and the Death Eaters missed them by inches. They waited in the darkness, listening to the footsteps running up and down, beams of light flying along the street from the Death Eater’s searching wands.

“Let’s just leave!” Hermione whispered. “Disapparate now!”

“We can’t!” hissed Sarah. “They were ready for us. They’ve likely put a spell to trap us here – “

“What about Dementors?” called another Death Eater. “Let ‘em have free rein, they’d find him quick enough!”

“The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hand but his – “

“ – an’ Dementors won’t kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter’s life, not his soul. He’ll be easier to kill if he’s been Kissed first!”

There were noises of agreement. Dread filled Sarah: to repel Dementors they would have to produce Patronuses, which would give them away immediately.

“We’re going to have to try to Disapparate!” Hermione whispered.

Even as she said it, Sarah felt the unnatural cold begin to steal over the street. Light was sucked from the environment right up to the stars, which vanished. In the pitch blackness, she felt Hermione take hold of her arm and together, they turned on the spot.

The air through which they needed to move seemed to have become solid: Sarah was right, they could not Disapparate; the Death Eaters had cast their charms well. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into Sarah’s flesh. The five of them retreated down the side street, groping their way along the wall, trying not to make a sound. Then, round the corner, gliding noiselessly, came Dementors, ten or more of them, visible because they were of a denser darkness than their surroundings, with their black cloaks and their scabbed and rotting hands. Could they sense fear in the vicinity? Sarah was sure of it: they seemed to be coming more quickly now, taking those dragging, rattling breaths she detested, tasting despair on the air, closing in –

Sarah staggered into Draco as her mother’s body flashed behind her eyes. Harry raised his wand and she heard him whisper, “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

The silver stag burst from his wand and charged: the Dementors scattered and there was a triumphant yell from somewhere out of sight. Sarah took a deep breath as warmth began to flow back into her shivering limbs.

“It’s him, down there, down there, I saw his Patronus, it was a stag!”

The Dementors had retreated, the stars were popping out again, and the footsteps of the Death Eaters were becoming louder; but before Sarah could panic any more, there was a grinding of bolts nearby, a door opened on the left-hand side of the narrow street and a rough voice said, “Potter, in here, quick!”

Harry obeyed without hesitation: the four of them following quickly after him.

“Upstairs, keep the Cloak on, keep quiet!” muttered a tall figure, passing them on his way into the street and slamming the door behind him.

Sarah had no idea where they were until she saw, by the stuttering light of a single candle, the grubby-sawdust strewn bar of the Hog’s Head. They ran behind the counter and through a second doorway, which led to a rickety wooden staircase, which they climbed as fast as they could. The stairs opened on to a sitting room with a threadbare carpet and a small fireplace, above which hung a single large oil painting of a blond girl who gazed out at the room with a kind of vacant sweetness.

Shouts reached them from the street below. Still wearing the Invisibility Cloak, they crept towards the grimy window and looked down. Their saviour, whom Sarah now recognised as the Hog’s Head’s barman, was the only person not wearing a hood.

“So what?” he was bellowing into one of the hooded faces. “So what? You send Dementors down my street, I’ll send a Patronus back at ‘em! I’m not having ‘em near me, I’ve told you that, I’m not having it!”

“That wasn’t your Patronus!” said a Death Eater. “That was a stag, it was Potter’s!”

“Stag!” roared the barman, and he pulled out a wand. “Stag! You idiot – _Expecto Patronum!”_

Something huge and horned erupted from the wand: head down it charged towards the High Street and out of sight.

“That’s not what I saw – “ said the Death Eater, though will less certainty.

“Curfew’s been broken, you heard the noise,” one of his companions told the barman. “Someone was out in the street against regulations – “

“If I want to put my cat out, I will, and be damned to your curfew!”

“ _You_ set off the Caterwauling Charm?”

“What if I did? Going to cart me off to Azkaban? Kill me for sticking my nose out my own front door? Do it, then, if you want to! But I hope for your sakes you haven’t pressed your little Dark Marks and summoned him. He’s not going to like being called here for me and my old cat, is he, now?”

“Don’t you worry about us,” said one of the Death Eaters, “worry about yourself, breaking curfew!”

“And where will you lot traffic potions and poisons when my pub’s closed down? What’ll happen to your little sidelines then?”

“Are you threatening - ?”

“I keep my mouth shut, it’s why you come here, isn’t it?”

“I still say I saw a stag Patronus!” shouted the first Death Eater.

“Stag?” roared the barman. “It’s a _goat_ , idiot!”

“All right, we made a mistake,” said the second Death Eater. “Break curfew again and we won’t be so lenient!”

The Death Eaters strode back towards the High Street. Hermione moaned with relief, wove out from under the Cloak and sat down on a wobble-legged chair. Harry drew the curtains tight shut, then pulled the Cloak off them. They could hear the barman below, rebolting the door of the bar, then climbing the stairs.

Sarah grabbed Draco and held him tightly as the panic slowly seeped out of her body.

The barman entered the room.

“You bloody fools,” he said gruffly, looking from one to the other of them. “What were you thinking, coming here?”

“Thank you,” said Harry, “we can’t thank you enough. You saved our lives.”

The barman grunted. Sarah thought there was something familiar about him but it wasn’t until he turned toward her and she saw the sparkling blue eyes behind dirty spectacle lenses did she realise.

“You’re Aberforth,” she said.

He neither confirmed nor denied it, but bent to light the fire.

“I’ve got food,” said Aberforth, and he sloped out of the room, reappearing moments later with a large loaf of bread, some cheese and a pewter jug of mead, which he set upon the small table in front of the fire. Ravenous, they ate and drank, and for a while there was silence but for the crackle of the fire, the clink of goblets and the sound of chewing.

“Right then,” said Aberforth, when they had eaten their fill and slumped dozily in their chairs. “We need to think of the best way to get you out of here. Can’t be done by night, you heard what happens if anyone moves outdoors during darkness: Caterwauling Charm’s set off, they’ll be on to you like Bowtruckles on Doxy eggs. I don’t reckon I’ll be able to pass off a stag as a goat a second time. Wait for daybreak, when curfew lifts, then you can put your Cloak back on and set out on foot. Get right out Hogsmeade, up into the mountains, and you’ll be able to Disapparate there. Might see Hagrid. He’s been hiding in a cave up there with Grawp ever since they tried to arrest him.”

“We’re not leaving,” said Harry. “We need to get into Hogwarts.”

“Don’t be stupid, boy,” said Aberforth.

“We’ve got to,” said Draco.

“What you’ve got to do,” said Aberforth, leaning forwards, “is to get as far from here as you can.”

“You don’t understand. There isn’t much time. We’ve got to get into the castle,” Harry said. “Dumbledore – I mean, your brother – wanted us – “

The firelight made the grimy lenses of Aberforth’s glasses momentarily opaque, a bright, flat white like eyes of a blinded creature.

“My brother Albus wanted a lot of things,” said Aberforth, “and people had a habit of getting hurt while he was carrying out his grand plans. You need to get away from this school, Potter, and out of the country if you can. Forget my brother and his clever schemes. He’s gone where none of this can hurt him, and you don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t understand,” said Harry again.

“Oh, don’t I?” said Aberforth quietly. “You don’t think I understood my own brother? Think you knew Albus better than I did?”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Harry. “It’s…he left me a job.”

“Did he, now?” said Aberforth. “Nice job, I hope? Pleasant? Easy? Sort of thing you’d expect an unqualified wizard kid to be able to do without overstretching themselves?”

Sarah gave a derisive snort as Draco and Ron gave rather grim laughs. Hermione was looking strained.

“I – it’s not easy, no,” said Harry. “But I’ve got to – “

“’Got to’? Why ‘ _got to_ ’? He’s dead, isn’t he?” said Aberforth roughly. “Let it go, boy, before you follow him! Save yourself!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I – “ Harry was starting to look offended. “But you’re fighting too, you’re in the Order of the Phoenix – “

“I was,” said Aberforth. “The Order of the Phoenix is finished. You-Know-Who’s won, it’s over, and anyone who’s pretending different’s kidding themselves. It’ll never be safe for you here, Potter, he wants you too badly. So go abroad, go into hiding, save yourself. Best take these four with you.” He jerked a thumb at Sarah, Draco, Ron and Hermione. “They’ll be in danger long as they live now everyone knows they’ve been working with you.”

“I can’t leave,” said Harry. “I’ve got a job – “

“Give it to someone else!”

“I can’t. It’s got to be me, Dumbledore explained it all – “

“Oh, did he, now? And did he tell you everything, was he honest with you?”

Harry looked as though he wanted more than anything to say ‘yes’ but Sarah knew that he couldn’t. Aberforth seemed to know the same thing.

“I knew my brother, Potter. He learned secrecy at our mother’s knee. Secrecy and lies, that’s how we grew up, and Albus…he was a natural.”

The old ma’s eyes travelled to the painting of the girl over the mantelpiece. It was, now Sarah looked around properly, the only picture in the room. There was no photograph of Albus Dumbledore, nor of anyone else.

“Mr Dumbledore?” said Hermione rather timidly. “Is that your sister? Ariana?”

“Yes,” said Aberforth tersely. “Been reading Rita Skeeter, have you, missy?”

Even by the rosy light of the fire, it was clear that Hermione had turned red.

“No, we saw her name on a tombstone in Godric’s Hollow,” Sarah said, trying to spare Hermione.

“When my sister was six years old, she was attacked, set upon, by three Muggle boys. They’d seen her doing magic, spying through the back garden hedge: she was a kid, she couldn’t control it, no witch or wizard at that age can. What they saw scared them, I expect. They forced their way through the hedge, and when she couldn’t them the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop the little freak doing it.”

Hermione’s eyes were huge in the firelight. Draco looked slightly sick; Sarah felt the same. Aberforth stood up, tall as Albus, and suddenly terribly in his anger and the intensity of his pain.

“It destroyed her, what they did: they were never right again. She wouldn’t use magic, but she couldn’t get rid of it: it turned inwards and drove her mad, it exploded out of her when she couldn’t control it, and at times she was strange and dangerous. But mostly she was sweet, and scared, and harmless. And my father went after the bastards that did it,” said Aberforth, “and attacked them. And they locked him up in Azkaban for it. He never said why he’d done it, because if the Ministry had known what Ariana had become, she’d have been locked up in St Mungo’s for good. They’d have seen her as a serious threat to the International Statute of Secrecy, unbalanced like she was, with magic exploding out of her at moments when she couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“We had to keep her safe and quiet. We moved house, put it about she was ill, and my mother looked after her, and tried to keep her calm and happy. _I_ was her favourite,” he said, and as he said it, a grubby schoolboy seemed to look out through Aberforth’s wrinkles and tangles beard. “Not Albus, he was always up in his bedroom when he was home, reading his books and counting his prizes, keeping up with his correspondence with ‘the most notable magical names of the day’,” Aberforth sneered, “ _he_ didn’t want to be bothered with her. She like me best. I could get her to eat when she wouldn’t do it for my mother, I could get her to calm down when she was in one of her rages, and when she was quiet, she used to help me feed the goats. Then, when she was fourteen…see, I wasn’t there,” said Aberforth. “If I’d been there, I could have calmed her down. She had one of her rages, and my mother wasn’t as young as she was, and…it was an accident. Ariana couldn’t control it. But my mother was killed.”

Sarah felt a horrible mixture of pity and repulsion; she did not want to hear any more, but Aberforth kept talking and Sarah wondered how long it had been since he had spoken about this; whether, in fact, he had ever spoken about it.

“So that put paid to Albus’s trip round the world with little Doge. The pair of ‘em came home for my mother’s funeral and then Doge went off on his own, and Albus settled down as head of the family. Ha!”

Aberforth spat into the fire.

“I’d have looked after her, I told him so, I didn’t care about school, I’d have stayed home and done it. He told me I had to finish my education and _he’d_ take over from my mother. Bit of a comedown for Mr Brilliant, there’s no prizes for looking after your half-mad sister, stopping her blowing up the house every other day. But he did all right for a few weeks…’till he came.”

And now a positively dangerous look crept over Aberforth’s face.

“Grindelwald. And at last, my brother had an _equal_ to talk to, someone just as bright and talented as _he_ was. And looking after Ariana took a back seat then, while they were hatching all their plans for a new wizarding order, and looking for _Hallows_ , and whatever else it was they were so interested in. Grand plans for the benefit of all wizardkind, and it one young girl got neglected, what did that matter, when Albus was working for the _greater good_?”

“But after a few weeks of it, I’d had enough, I had. It was nearly time for me to go back to Hogwarts, so I told ‘em, both of ‘em, face to face, like I am to you, now,” and Aberforth looked down at Harry, and it took little imagination to see him as a teenager, wiry and angry, confronting his elder brother. “I told him, you’d better give it up, now. You can’t move her, she’s in no fit state, you can’t take her with you, wherever it is you’re planning to go, when you’re making your clever speeches, trying to whip yourselves up a following. He didn’t like that,” said Aberforth, and his eyes were briefly occluded by the firelight on the lenses of his glasses: they shone white and blind again. “Grindelwald didn’t like that at all. He got angry. He told me what a stupid little boy I was, trying to stand in the way of him and my brilliant brother…didn’t I _understand_ , my poor sister wouldn’t _have_ to be hidden once they’d changed the world, and led the wizards out of hiding and taught the Muggles their place?

“And there was an argument…and I pulled my wand, and he pulled out his, and I had the Cruciatus Curse used on me by my brother’s best friend – and Albus was trying to stop him, and then all three of us were duelling, and the flashing lights and the bangs set her off, she couldn’t stand it – “

The colour was draining was Aberforth’s face as though he had suffered a mortal wound.

“ – and I think she wanted to help, but she didn’t really know what she doing, and I don’t know which one of us did it, it could have been any of us – and she was dead.”

His voice broke on the last word and he dropped down into the nearest chair. Hermione’s face was wet with tears and Ron was almost as pale as Aberforth. Draco had Sarah’s hand in a death grip as she looked at Harry’s ill expression.

“I’m so…I’m so sorry,” Hermione whispered.

“Gone,” croaked Aberforth. “Gone forever.”

He wiped his nose on his cuff and cleared his throat.

“’Course, Grindelwald scarpered. He had a bit of a track record already, back in his own country, he didn’t want Ariana set to his account too. And Albus was free, wasn’t he? Free of the burden of his sister, free to become the greatest wizard of the – “

“He was never free,” said Harry.

“I beg your pardon?” said Aberforth.

“Never,” said Harry. “The night that your brother died he drank a potion that drove him out of his mind. He started screaming, pleading with someone who wasn’t there. ‘ _Don’t hurt them, please…hurt me instead_ ’.”

Sarah stared at Harry in horror. He had never gone into details about what had happened the night Dumbledore died.

“He thought he was back there with you and Grindelwald, I know he did,” continued Harry. “He thought he was watching Grindelwald hurting you and Ariana…it was torture to him, if you’d seen him them, you wouldn’t say he was free.”

Aberforth seemed lost in contemplation of his own knotted and veined hands. After a long pause, he said, “How can you be sure, Potter, that my brother wasn’t more interested in the greater good than in you? How can you be sure you aren’t dispensable, just like my little sister?”

“I don’t believe it. Dumbledore loved Harry,” said Hermione.

“Why didn’t he tell him to hide, then?” shot back Aberforth. “Why didn’t he say to him, take care of yourself, here’s how to survive?”

“Because,” said Harry, before Hermione could answer, “sometimes you’ve _got_ to think about more than your own safety! Sometimes you’ve _got_ to think about the greater good! This is war!”

“You’re seventeen, boy!”

“I’m of age, and I’m going to keep fighting even if you’ve given up!”

“Who says I’ve given up?”

“’The Order of the Phoenix is finished’,” Harry repeated. “’You-Know-Who’s won, it’s over, and anyone who’s pretending different’s kidding themselves’.”

“I don’t say I like it, but it’s the truth!”

“No, it isn’t,” said Harry. “Your brother knew how to finish You-Know-Who and he passed the knowledge on to me. I’m going to keep going until I succeed – or I die. Don’t think I don’t know how this might end. I’ve known it for years.”

He waited for Aberforth to jeer or to argue, but he did not. He merely scowled.

“We need to get into Hogwarts,” said Harry again. “If you can’t help us, we’ll wait ‘til daybreak, leave you in peace and try to find a way in ourselves. If you _can_ help us – well, now would be a great time to mention it.”

Aberforth remained fixed in his chair, gazing at Harry with the eyes that were so extraordinarily like his brother’s. at last he cleared his throat, got to his feet, walked around the little table and approached the portrait of Ariana.

“You know what to do,” he said.

She smiled, turned and walked away, not as people in portraits usually did, out of the sides of their frames, but along what seemed to be a long tunnel painted behind her. They watched her slight figure retreating until finally she was swallowed by the darkness.

“Er – what?” began Draco.

“There’s the only way in, now,” said Aberforth. “You must know they’ve got all the old secret passageways covered at both ends, Dementors all around the boundary walls, regular patrols inside the school from what my sources tell me. The place has never been so heavily guarded. How you expect to do anything once you get inside it, with Snape in charge and the Carrows as his Deputies…well, that’s your lookout, isn’t it? You say you’re prepared to die.”

“Leave that to us,” Sarah said, already suspecting what they may have to do.

A tiny white dot had reappeared at the end of the painted tunnel, and now Ariana was walking back towards them, growing bigger and bigger as she came. But there was somebody else with her now, someone taller than she was, who was limping along looking excited. His hair was longer than Sarah had ever seen it: he appeared to have suffered several gashes to his face and his clothes were ripped and torn. Larger and larger the two figures grew, until only their heads and shoulders filled the portrait. Then the whole thing swung forwards on the wall like a little door, and the entrance to a real tunnel was revealed. And out of it, his hair overgrown, his face cut, his robes ripped, clambered the real Neville Longbottom, who gave a roar of delight, leapt down from the mantelpiece and yelled, “I know you’d come! _I knew it, Harry!”_


	15. Chapter Fifteen

“Neville – what the – how - ?

But Neville had spotted Sarah, Draco, Ron and Hermione, and with yells of delight was hugging them too. The longer Sarah looked at Neville, the worse he appeared: one of his eyes was swollen, yellow and purple, there were gouge marks on his face, and his general air of unkemptness suggested that he had been living rough. Nevertheless, his battered visage shone with happiness as he let go of Hermione and said again, “I knew you’d come! Kept telling Seamus it was a matter of time!”

“Neville, when did you get hot?” Sarah gasped out.

He laughed and hugged her again.

“I’ve missed you,” he said brightly.

“Please, let me heal those for you,” she pleaded, already drawing her wand.

“Neville, what happened to you?” Harry asked.

“This is nothing,” Neville dismissed his injuries with a shake of his head and tried to dodge Sarah’s wand. “Seamus is worse. You’ll see. Sarah – stop – ah! Shall we get going, then? Oh,” he turned to Aberforth, “Ab, there might be a couple more people on the way.”

“Couple more?” repeated Aberforth ominously. “What d’you mean, a couple more, Longbottom? There’s a curfew and a Caterwauling Charm on the whole village!”

“I know, that’s why they’ll be Apparating directly into the bar,” said Neville. “Just send them down the passage when they get here, will you? Thanks a lot – ah! Bloody _hell_ , Sarah!”

Sarah smiled smugly to herself and pocketed her wand. Neville could now see out of both his eyes and the worse of his gashes now looked a few days old. He glared at her but then held out a hand to help her climb up on the mantelpiece and into the tunnel; Draco, Ron, then Neville followed. Harry addressed Aberforth.

“I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve saved our lives, twice.”

“Look after ‘em, then,” said Aberforth gruffly. “I might not be able to save ‘em a third time.”

Harry clambered up to the mantelpiece and into the passageway behind them. Neville slid between Ron and Draco to lead them down the tunnel. There was smooth stone steps on the other side: it looked as though the passageway had been here for years. Brass lamps hung from the walls and the earthy floor was worn and smooth; as they walked, their shadows rippled, fan-like, across the wall.

“How long’s this been here?” Ron asked, as they set off. “It isn’t on the Marauder’s Map, is it, Harry? I thought there were only seven passageways in and out of school?”

“They sealed off all of those before the start of the year,” said Neville. “There’s no chance of getting through any of them now, not with curses over the entrances and Death Eaters and Dementors waiting at the exits.” He started walking backwards, beaming, drinking them in. “Never mind that stuff…is it true? Did you break into Gringotts? Did you escape on a dragon? It’s everywhere, everyone’s talking about it, Terry Boot got beaten up by Carrow for yelling about it in the Great Hall at dinner!”

“Yeah, it’s true,” said Harry.

“Unfortunately,” Sarah muttered.

“The dragon wasn’t planned,” Draco advised.

Neville laughed gleefully.

“What did you do with it?”

“Released it into the wild,” said Ron. “Hermione was all for keeping it as a pet – “

“Don’t exaggerate, Ron – “

“But what have you been doing? People have been saying you’ve just been on the run, Harry, but I don’t think so. I think you’ve been up to something.”

“You’re right,” said Harry, “but tell us about Hogwarts, Neville, we haven’t heard anything.”

“It’s been…well, it’s not really like Hogwarts anymore,” said Neville, the smile fading from his face as he spoke. “Do you know about the Carrows?”

“Those two Death Eaters who teach here?” Draco said.

“They do more than teach,” said Neville. “They’re in charge of all discipline. They like punishment, the Carrows.”

“Like Umbridge?”

“Nah, they make her look tame. The other teachers are all supposed to refer us to the Carrows if we do anything wrong. They don’t, though, if they can avoid it. You can tell they all hate them as much as we do.”

Neville shook his head in disgust.

“Amycus, the bloke, he teaches what used to be Defense Against the Dark Arts, except now it’s just the Dark Arts. We’re supposed to practise the Cruciatus Curse on people who’ve earned detentions – “

“ _What?”_

Sarah, Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione’s united voices echoed up and down the passage.

“Yeah,” said Neville. “That’s how I got this one,” he pointed at the particularly deep gash in his cheek that Sarah cleaned up. “I refused to do it. Some people are into it, though; Crabbe and Goyle love it. First time they’ve ever been top in anything, I expect.”

Sarah scoffed. “Their daddies have probably been given them pointers.”

Neville nodded.

‘Alecto, Amycus’s sister, teachers Muggle Studies, which is compulsory for everyone. We’ve all got to listen to her explain how Muggles are like animals, stupid and dirty, and how they drove wizards into hiding by being vicious towards them, and how the natural order is being re-established. I got this one,” he indicated another half-healed slash to his face, “for asking her how much Muggle blood she and her brother have got.”

Sarah and Draco both coughed out startled laughs.

“Blimey, Neville,” said Ron, “there’s a time and a place for getting a smart mouth.”

“You didn’t hear her,” said Neville. “You wouldn’t have stood it either. The thing is, it helps when people stand up to them, it gives everyone hope. I used to notice then when you did it, Harry.”

“But they’ve used you as a knife sharpener,” said Sarah, wincing slightly as they passed a lamp and Neville’s injuries were thrown into even greater relief.

Neville shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter. They don’t want to spill too much pure blood, so they’ll torture us for a bit if we’re mouthy but they won’t actually kill us.”

Sarah did not know what was worse, the things that Neville was saying or the matter-of-fact tone in which he said them.

“The only people in real danger are the ones whose friends and relatives on the outside are giving trouble. They get taken hostage. Old Xeno Lovegood was getting a bit too outspoken in _The Quibbler_ , so they dragged Luna off the train on the way back for Christmas.”

“We’re aware,” said Draco dryly.

“Neville, Luna’s all right, we’ve seen her – “ Hermione said.

“Yeah, I know, she managed to get a message to me.”

From his pocket he pulled a golden coin, and Sarah recognised it as one of the fake Galleons that Dumbledore’s Army had used to send one another messages.

“These have been great,” said Neville, beaming at Hermione and Draco. “The Carrows never rumbled how we were communicating, it drove them mad. We used out at night and put graffiti on the walls: _Dumbledore’s Army, Still Recruiting,_ stuff like that. Snape hated it.”

“You _used_ to?” said Harry.

“Well, it got more difficult as time went on,” said Neville. “We lost Luna at Christmas and Ginny never came back after Easter, and the three of us were sort of the leaders. The Carrows seemed to know I was behind a lot of it, so they started coming down on me hard, and then Michael Corner went and got caught releasing a first-year they’d chained up, and they tortured him pretty badly. That scared people off.”

“No kidding,” muttered Ron, as the passage began to slope upwards.

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t ask people to go through what Michael did, so we dropped those kinds of stunts. But we were still fighting, doing underground stuff, right up until a couple of weeks ago. That’s when they decided there was only one way to stop me, I suppose, and they went for Gran.”

“They _what_?” said the five of them together.

“Yeah,” said Neville, panting a little now, because the passage was climbing so steeply, “well, you can see their thinking. It had worked really weel, kidnapping kids to force their relatives to behave, I s’ppose it was only a matter of time before they did it the other way round. Thing was,” he faced them, and Sarah was astonished to see that he was grinning, “they bit off a bit more than they could chew with Gran. Little old witch living alone, they probably thought they didn’t need to send anyone particularly powerful. Anyway,” Neville laughed, “Dawlish is still in St Mungo’s and Gran’s on the run. She sent me a letter,” he clapped a hand to the breast pocket of his robes, “telling me she was proud of me, that I’m my parents’ son, and to keep it up.”

“Cool,” said Ron.

“Yeah,” said Neville happily. “Only thing was, once they realised they had no hold over me, they decided Hogwarts could do without me after all. I don’t know whether they were planning to kill me or send me to Azkaban, either way, I knew it was time to disappear.”

“But,” said Ron, looking thoroughly confused, “aren’t – aren’t we heading straight back into Hogwarts?”

“’Course,” said Neville. “You’ll see. We’re here.”

They turned a corner and there ahead of them was the end of the passage. Another short flight of steps led to a door just like the one hidden behind Ariana’s portrait. Neville pushed it open and climbed through. Harry followed first with Sarah and the others close behind. They could hear Neville call out to unseen people: “Look who it is! Didn’t I tell you?”

As Harry emerged into the room beyond the passage, there were several screams and yells –

“HARRY!”

“It’s Potter, it’s POTTER!”

“Ron!”

“ _Hermione!”_

“SARAH!”

“Draco!”

She had a confused impression of coloured hangings, of lamps and many faces. The next moment, the five of them were engulfed, pounded on the back, their hair ruffled, their hands shaken, by what seemed to be more than twenty people.

“OK, OK, calm down!” Neville called, and as the crowd backed away, Sarah was able to take in their surroundings.

She did not recognise the room at all. It was enormous, and looked rather like the interior of a particularly sumptuous tree house, or perhaps a gigantic ship’s cabin. Multicoloured hammocks were strung from the ceiling and from a balcony that ran around the dark wood-panelled and windowless walls, which were covered in bright tapestry hangings: Sarah saw the gold Gryffindor lion, emblazoned on scarlet; the black badger of Hufflepuff, set against yellow, and the bronze eagle of Ravenclaw, on clue. To her absolute surprise, the silver and green of Slytherin was hanging to her left. There were bulging bookcases, a few broomsticks propped against the was, and in the corner, a large wooden-cased wireless.

“Where are we?”

“Room of Requirement, of course!” said Neville. “Surpassed itself, hasn’t it? The Carrows were chasing me, and I knew I had just one chance for a hideout: I managed to get through the door and this is what I found! Well, it wasn’t exactly like this when I arrived, it was a load smaller, there was only one hammock and just Gryffindor hangings. But it’s expanded as more and more of the DA have arrived.

“And the Carrows can’t get in?” asked Harry, looking around for the door.

“No,” said Seamus Finnigan, whom Sarah had not recognised until he spoke: Seamus’s face was bruised and puffy. “It’s a proper hideout, as long as one of us stays in here, they can’t get at us, the door won’t open. It’s all down to Neville. He really _gets_ this Room. You’ve got to ask it for _exactly_ what you need – like, “I don’t want any Carrow supporters to be able to get it” – and it’ll do it for you! You’ve just got to make sure you close the loopholes! Neville’s the man!”

“It’s quite straightforward, really,” said Neville modestly. “I’d been in here about a day and a half, and getting really hungry, and wishing I could get something to eat, and that’s when the passage to the Hog’s Head opened up. I went through it and met Aberforth. He’s been providing us with food, because for some reason, that’s the one thing the Room doesn’t really do.”

“Yeah, well, food’s one of the five exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration,” said Ron, to general astonishment.”

“So we’ve been hiding out here for nearly two weeks,” said Seamus, “and it just makes more hammocks every time we need them, and it even sprouted a pretty good bathroom once girls started turning up – “

“ – and thought they’d quite like to wash, yes,” drawled Pansy, whom Sarah hadn’t noticed until that point. Pansy smirked at her and stepped forward to embrace her. “It’s lovely to see you, darling,” she said as if they were simply meeting for brunch.

“Give us an opportunity to say hello,” came a sarcastic voice above them and Sarah looked up to see Blaise and Theo’s grinning faces behind Pansy. “You’re looking surprisingly well for someone who’s been on the run for months.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and leapt at the boys, causing their heads to smash together in her hug.

“And you’re looking particularly run-down for someone who’s been having food and shelter provided for them,” drawled Draco, stepping up to embrace the other Slytherins. “I’d like to see how you look after living in a tent most of the year.”

“Ah, he hasn’t lost his snappiness,” Blaise said dramatically, throwing a careless arm around Sarah’s shoulder. “Yet, somehow, I have missed it.”

“Wanker,” said Draco fondly.

“Tell us what you’ve been up, though,” said Ernie Macmillan, “they’ve been so many rumours, we’ve been trying to keep up with you on _Potterwatch_.” He pointed at the wireless. “You didn’t break into Gringotts?”

“They did!” said Neville. “And the dragon’s true too!”

There was a smattering of applause and a few whoops; Ron took a bow.

“Wasn’t one of our finest moments,” Sarah muttered in reply to Theo’s incredulous look.

“What were you after?” asked Seamus eagerly.

Before any of them could parry the question with one of their own, Harry turned his back hastily on the room, his knees buckling. Draco leapt forward to catch him before he hit the ground as everyone watched in horror.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Neville was saying. “Want to sit down? I expect you’re tired, aren’t - ?”

“No,” said Harry. He looked directly at Sarah and she felt her stomach drop at the expression on his face. She stepped out from under Blaise’s arm and grabbed Hermione and Ron closer.

“We need to get going,” she said, and their expressions told her that they understood.

“What are we going to do, then, Harry?” asked Seamus. “What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” repeated Harry. “Well, there’s something we – Draco, Sarah, Ron, Hermione and I – need to do, and then we’ll get out of here.”

Nobody was laughing or whooping any more. Neville looked confused.

“What d’you mean, ‘get out of here’?”

“We haven’t come back to stay,” said Harry, rubbing his scar. “There’s something important we need to do – “

“What is it?”

“I – I can’t tell you.”

There was a rippling of muttering at this: Neville’s brows contracted.

“Why can’t you tell us? It’s something to do with fighting You-Know-Who, right?”

“Well, yeah – “

“Then we’ll help you.”

The other members of Dumbledore’s Army were nodding, some enthusiastically, others solemnly. A couple of them rose from their chairs to demonstrate their willingness for immediate action.

“You don’t understand.” Harry seemed to have said that a lot in the last few hours. “We – we can’t tell you. We’ve got to do it – alone.”

“Why?” asked Neville.

“Because…” Harry looked desperately around at Sarah and the others.

“Because Dumbledore left the five of us a job,” Draco said carefully, “and we weren’t supposed to tell anyone – I mean, he wanted Harry to do it, and us – “

“We’re his Army,” said Neville. “Dumbledore’s Army. We were all in it together, we’ve been keeping it going while you five have been off on your own – “

“It hasn’t exactly been a picnic, mate,” said Ron.

“I never said it had, but I don’t see why you can’t trust us. Everyone in this Room’s been fighting and they’ve been driven here because the Carrows were hunting them down. Everyone in here’s proven they’re loyal to Dumbledore – loyal to you.”

“Look,” Harry began, but the tunnel door suddenly opened behind him.

“We got your message, Neville! Hello, you five, I thought you must be here!”

It was Luna and Dean. Seamus gave a great roar of delight and ran to hug his best friend.

“Hi, everyone!” said Luna happily. “Oh, it’s great to be back!”

“Luna,” said Sarah distractedly, “what are you doing here? How did you - ?”

“I sent for her,” said Neville, holding up the fake Galleon. I promised her and Ginny that if you turned up I’d let them know. We all thought that if you came back, it would mean revolution. That we were going to overthrow Snape and the Carrows.”

“Of course that’s what it means,” said Luna brightly. “Isn’t it, Harry? We’re going to fight them out of Hogwarts?”

“Listen,” said Harry, the rising panic Sarah felt was reflected in his voice. “I’m sorry, but that’s not what we came back for. There’s something we’ve got to do, and then – “

“You’re going to leave us in this mess?” demanded Michael Corner.

“Of course not!” snapped Draco. “What we’re doing will benefit everyone in the end, it’s all about trying to get rid of You-Know-Who – “

“Then let us help!” said Neville angrily. “We want to be a part of it!”

“It isn’t that _simple_ , Neville!” Sarah exclaimed. “We don’t have time to explain or – “

She cut off as there was another noise behind them and she turned. Her heart seemed to fail: Fred was now climbing through the hole in the wall, closely followed by Lee Jordan, George and Ginny. Fred gave her a lopsided smile and Sarah nearly lost all her composure right then and there.

She threw herself forward into her boyfriend’s arms and held him tightly as cries of greeting echoed around them. Sarah didn’t register anything except the familiar feel of Fred’s arms around her and the warmth in his voice as he said, “I missed you, too, love.”

Sarah pulled back from him and grabbed his face, kissing him with a desperation she had never felt before. Catcalls went up behind them but they didn’t care, holding each other tightly as months of separation and fear were finally left behind.

“So what’s the plan, Harry?” George said as Sarah and Fred finally separated.

“There isn’t one,” said Harry.

“Just going to make it up as we go along, are we? My favourite kind,” said Fred, keeping an arm tightly around Sarah’s waist. She let out a wet chuckle and wiped her eyes as she leaned into his side.

“You’ve got to stop this!” Harry told Neville. “What did you call them all back for? This is insane – “

Sarah suddenly had an idea. She turned to Harry.

“Wait, why can’t they help?”

“What?”

“They can help,” she insisted. “We don’t know where it is or even what we’re really looking for. But we have to find it fast.”

Harry looked from her to Draco, Ron and Hermione, who murmured, “I think Sarah’s right. We need them.” And when Harry unconvinced, “You don’t have to do everything alone, Harry.”

Harry stared at them all a moment longer before sighing in defeat.

“All right,” he said quietly to them. “OK!” he called to the Room at large, and all noise ceased. “There’s something we need to find,” Harry said. “Something – something that’ll help us overthrow You-Know-Who. It’s here at Hogwarts, but we don’t know where. It might have belonged to Ravenclaw. Has anyone heard of an object like that? Has anyone ever come across something with her eagle on it, for instance?”

They looked hopefully towards the little group of Ravenclaws, to Padma, Michael, Terry and Cho, but it was Luna who answered, perched on the arm of Ginny’s chair.

“Well, there’s her lost diadem. I told you about it, remember? The lost diadem of Ravenclaw? Daddy’s trying to duplicate it.”

“ _That’s_ what that headpiece was?” Draco muttered incredulously under his breath.

“Yeah, but the lost diadem,” said Michael Corner, rolling his eyes, “is _lost_ , Luna. That’s sort of the point.”

“When was it lost?” asked Harry.

“Centuries ago, they say,” said Cho. “Professor Flitwick says the diadem vanished with Ravenclaw herself. People have looked, but,” she appealed to her fellow Ravenclaws, “nobody’s ever found a trace of it, have they?”

They all shook their heads.

“Sorry, but what _is_ a diadem?” asked Ron.

“It’s a type of tiara,” Draco explained. “I got one for Sarah for her tenth birthday.”

“Of course you did,” muttered Ron, as Terry Boot said, “Ravenclaw’s was supposed to have magical properties, enhance the wisdom of the wearer.”

“Yes, Daddy’s Wrackspurt siphons – “

But Harry cut across Luna.

“And none of you have ever seen anything that looks like it?”

They all shook their heads again. Sarah looked at Ron, Hermione, Draco and Harry and saw her own disappointment mirrored back at her. An object that had been lost this long, and apparently without a trace, did not seem like a good candidate for the Horcrux hidden in the castle…before she could formulate a question, however, Cho spoke again.

“If you’d like to see what the diadem’s supposed to look like, I could take you up to our common room and show you, Harry? Ravenclaw’s wearing it in her statue.”

Harry didn’t immediately respond, instead turning to put his head close to Sarah and Draco’s.

“He’s on the move,” he said quietly to them, Ron and Hermione leaning close to hear. He glanced at Cho and then back at them. “Listen, I know it’s not much of a lead, but I’m going to go and look at this statue, at least find out what the diadem looks like. Wait for me here and keep, you know – the other – safe.”

Cho had got to her feet, but Draco said rather fiercely, “No, Luna will take Harry and me, won’t you, Luna?”

“Oooh, yes, I’d like to,” said Luna happily, and Cho sat down again, looking disappointed.

“Here,” Sarah said, handing Draco the Invisibility Cloak. “Stay safe, you two.”

“How do we get out?” Harry asked Neville as Draco pressed a quick kiss to Sarah’s forehead.

“Over here.”

He led Harry, Draco and Luna away. Sarah turned to Ron and Hermione.

“What do we do now?” she asked them. Their gaze flicked to Fred, who was still standing beside Sarah and she rolled her eyes. “You know I’ll tell him anything we say – just don’t tell Harry or Draco.”

“Well,” Ron said quietly as the others in the room began to talk loudly with George and Lee, “I was thinking – we need a way to _destroy_ them, don’t we? And what do we know has the ability to destroy them?” He paused expectantly to give them a moment.

“Basilisk venom,” Sarah said in realisation. “That’s why the sword could destroy them!”

“Exactly!” Ron said in excitement. “So all we need to do is get some Basilisk fangs and we can destroy the one we have.”

“But there’s one problem,” Hermione said frowning. “None of us speak Parseltongue.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Ron said. “Harry talks in his sleep.”

“Do you make a habit of sleeping with Harry?” Fred grinned down at his brother.

Ron flushed red. “No! It’s just that living with the bloke for sixth years means I hear some weird things.”

“And let’s not get into that,” Sarah said, interrupting Fred as he opened his mouth with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Do you think you’ll be able to get in?”

Ron nodded.

“Okay, brilliant.” Sarah looked around at the disorganised room and made up her mind. “You two go. I’ll stay here and try to explain things as best as I can. When you all get back we’ll decide what we need to do next.”

Ron and Hermione slipped away, the Marauder’s Map open before them. The rest of the Room’s occupants turned toward her and she awkwardly coughed.

“Okay – well – “ she said haltingly. “The others and I have some things we need to do but I still think you all will be able to help us. We need a distraction as we look for the – er – _thing_.” Expectant faces watched her unblinkingly. “We need to keep the Carrows and Snape busy for as long as possible. But that’s not all…You-Know-Who will likely be coming here and soon. He’s after the same thing we are. That’s why it’s essential we get it first.” She turned to Fred. “Can you contact the Order? See if they can meet us here?”

He nodded. “I left a message for Dad before we left. I imagine they’ll be here soon.”

“Excellent.” She turned back to the waiting students. “We need ideas. And we all need to be ready for a fight.

“Our fireworks?” called George.

“Ooh and your decoy detonators!” squealed Lavender Brown.

“We should talk to McGonagall,” Neville said. “She can help get the students out.”

“They’ll most likely have to be moved through here,” Sarah said, looking back at the portrait. “Theo, do you think you, Pansy and Blaise can get the Slytherins out?”

“What if they want to fight?”

Theo’s question was met with silence.

“Do you think they will?” Sarah asked tentatively. “A lot of them are going to be fighting their families.”

“Most of our families are arseholes,” Pansy declared. “I’d love nothing more than to curse my bastard of a father.”

Sarah nodded appreciatively at them. “All right then, we’ll see what McGonagall says about who can stay and fight. It’ll likely be everyone of age – “

Cries of argument filled the air and she shouted above them all, “It’s the safest option! We’ll know much more about fighting than the younger students!”

“I want to fight!”

“Me too!”

“You can’t stop me!”

“No, you’re right, I won’t be able to stop you,” Sarah agreed. “But we’ll need people protecting the younger students while leading them to safety.”

“But how can we hold back You-Know-Who?” Lee asked. “He’ll bring more Death Eaters.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re here then, isn’t it?”

Sarah spun around at the new voice and saw that Sirius, Remus, Kingsley, Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Bill, Fleur and Mr and Mrs Weasley had all just come through the portrait from the Hog’s Head.

“Hey pup, so this is where the party’s at?” Sirius smirked, loping forward to ruffle Sarah’s hair.

“Sirius! You’re here!” exclaimed Sarah.

“Of course, I am,” he laughed, looking around the Room. “Where’s Harry?”

“Ravenclaw tower, he had to do something,” she replied, ignoring the sharp looks her godfathers sent her. “We were just talking about how we would need a distraction – “

At that moment, Harry, Draco and Luna reappeared at the entrance, slipping down the last few stairs in shock at the new arrivals.

“Sirius! Remus!” said Harry.

“Harry!” Sirius said, mimicking Harry’s tone.

“What’s happening, Harry?” said Remus.

“Voldemort’s on his way, they’re barricading the school – Snape’s run for it – what are you doing here? How did you know?”

“We sent messages to the rest of Dumbledore’s Army and the Order,” Fred explained. “You couldn’t expect everyone to miss the fun, Harry.”

“What’s first, Harry?” called George. “What’s going on?”

“They’re evacuating the younger kids and everyone’s meeting in the Great Hall to get organised,” Harry said. “We’re fighting.”

There was a great roar and a surge towards the foot of the stairs. Harry, Draco and Luna disappeared from view as most of the occupants of the room ran past them, their wands drawn, heading up to into the main castle.

“Come on, Luna,” Dean called as he passed them, holding out his free hand; she took it and followed him back up the stairs.

The crowd was thinning: only a little knot of people remained below in the Room of Requirement and Harry and Draco joined them. Sarah was watching in interest as Mrs Weasley struggled with Ginny. Fred, Remus and Sirius took up positions beside her.

“You’re under-age!” Mrs Weasley shouted at her daughter. “I won’t permit it! The boys, yes, but you, you’ve got to go home!”

“I won’t!”

Ginny’s hair flew as she pulled her arm out of her mother’s grip.

“I’m in Dumbledore’s Army – “

“ – a teenagers’ gang!”

“A teenagers’ gang that’s about to take him on, which no one else has dared to do!” said Fred.

“She’s sixteen!” shouted Mrs Weasley. “She’s not old enough! What were you two thinking, bringing her with you – “

Fred and George looked slightly ashamed of themselves.

“Luna’s fighting! And she’s under-age!”

“Mum’s right, Ginny,” said Bill gently. “You can’t do this. Everyone under-age will have to leave, it’s only right.”

“I can’t go home!” Ginny shouted, angry tears sparkling in her eyes. “My whole family’s here, I can’t stand waiting there alone and not knowing and – “

There was a scuffling and a great thump: someone else had clambered out of the tunnel, overbalanced slightly and fallen. He pulled himself up on the nearest chair, looked around through lopsided horn-rimmed glasses and said, “Am I too late? Has it started? I only just found out, so I – I – “

Percy spluttered into silence. Evidently he had not expected to run into most of his family. There was a long moment of astonishment, broken by Fleur turning to Remus and Sirius and saying, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension, “So – ‘ow eez leetle Teddy?”

Remus blinked at her, startled, as Sirius watched the proceedings with an awkward grimace.

“I – oh yes – he’s fine!” Remus said loudly. “Yes, Tonks is with him – at her mother’s.”

Percy and the other Weasleys were still staring at once another, frozen. Fred’s grip on Sarah’s hand had gotten so tight she feared she would start losing circulation.

“Here, I’ve got a picture!” Remus shouted, pulling a photograph from inside his jacket and showing it to Fleur, Harry, Draco and Sarah, who saw a tiny baby with a tuft of bright turquoise hair, waving fat fists at the camera.

“I was a fool!” Percy roared, so loudly that Remus nearly dropped his photograph. “I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a – a – “

“Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron,” said Fred.

“ _Fred_ ,” hissed Sarah quietly.

“What?” he asked her, not looking away from his brother. “It’s true.”

Percy swallowed.

“Yes, I was!”

“Well, you can’t say fairer than that,” said Fred, holding out his hand to Percy.

Mrs Weasley burst into tears. She ran forwards, pushed Fred aside and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on his father.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Percy said.

Mr Weasley blinked rather rapidly, then he, too, hurried to hug his son.

“What made you see sense, Perce?” inquired George.

“It’s been coming on for a while,” said Percy, mopping his eyes under his glasses with a corner of his travelling cloak. “But I had to find a way out and it’s not so easy at the Ministry, they’re imprisoning traitors all the time. I managed to make contact with Aberforth and he tipped me off ten minutes ago that Hogwarts was going to make a fight of it, so here I am.”

“Well, we do look to our prefects to take a lead at times such as these,” said George, in a good imitation of Percy’s most pompous manner. “Now let’s get upstairs and fight, or all the good Death Eaters’ll be taken.”

George, Percy, Bill, and Fleur moved towards the staircase. Fred hesitated, looking down at Sarah sadly.

“I have to stay,” she whispered. “I’ll find you. I promise.”

He drew her close and kissed her quickly.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.”

And then he was gone.

Sarah turned back to the group and smiled weakly up at Sirius when he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“He’ll be okay, pup,” he said.

“I hope so,” she muttered.

“Where are Ron and Hermione?” Draco asked loudly once Remus, Sirius, and Mr and Mrs Weasley had headed off for the stairs as well.

“They went down to the Chamber,” Sarah explained, just as Harry clutched his forehead in pain. “And there he goes again.”

Draco flicked her nose and glared at her as she pouted at him.

“He’s here,” Harry groaned.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :'(

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was dark and scattered with stars, and below it the four long house tables were lines with dishevelled students, some in travelling cloaks, others in dressing gowns. Here and there shone the pearly-white figures of the school ghosts. Every eye, living and dead, was fixed upon Professor McGonagall, who was speaking from the raised platform at the top of the Hall. Behind her stood the remaining teachers, including the palomino centaur, Firenze, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had arrived to fight.

“…evacuation will be overseen by Mr Filch and Madam Pomfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you will organise your houses and take your charges, in an orderly fashion, to the evacuation point.”

Many of the students looked petrified, However, as Sarah, Harry and Draco skirted the walls, scanning the Gryffindor table for Ron and Hermione, Ernie Macmillan stood up at the Hufflepuff table and shouted, “And what if we want to stay and fight?”

There was a smattering of applause.

“If you are of age, you may stay,” said Professor McGonagall.

“What about our things?” called a girl at the Ravenclaw table. “Our trunks, our owls?”

“We have no times to collect possessions,” said Professor McGonagall. “The important thing is to get you out of here safely.”

“Where’s Professor Snape?” shouted a girl from the Slytherin table.

“He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk,” replied Professor McGonagall, and a great cheer erupted from the students. Sarah was sure she could hear Blaise’s obnoxious whistle amidst the noise.

Sarah, Draco and Harry moved up the Hall alongside the Gryffindor table, still looking for Ron and Hermione. As they passed, faces turned in their direction and a great deal of whispering broke out in their wake.

“We have already placed protection around the castle,” Professor McGonagall was saying, “but it is unlikely to hold for very long unless we reinforce it. I must ask you, therefore, to move quickly and calmly and do as your prefects – “

But her final words were drowned as a different voice echoed throughout the Hall. It was high, cold and clear: there was no telling from where it came; it seemed to issue from the walls themselves. Like the monster it had once commanded, it might have lain dormant there for centuries.

“I know that you are preparing to fight.” There were screams amongst the students, some of whom clutched each other, looking around in terror for the source of the sound. “Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.”

There was silence in the Hall now, the kind of silence that presses against the eardrums, that seems too huge to be contained by walls.

“Give me Harry Potter,” said Voldemort’s voice, “and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded…You have until midnight.”

The silence swallowed them all again. Every head turned, every eye in the place seemed to have found Harry, to hold him frozen in the glare of thousands of invisible beams. Then a figure rose from the Slytherin table and Sarah recognised Tracey Davies as she raised a shaking arm and screamed, “But he’s there! Potter’s _there_! Someone grab him!”

Before anyone could speak, there was a massive movement. The Gryffindors in front of them had risen and stood facing, not Harry, but the Slytherins. Then the Hufflepuffs stood, and, almost at the same moment, the Ravenclaws, all of them with their backs to Harry, all of them looking towards Tracey instead, and Sarah, awestruck and overwhelmed, saw wands emerging everywhere, pulled from beneath cloaks and from under sleeves.

“Thank you, Miss Davies,” said Professor McGonagall in a clipped voice. “You will leave the Hall first with Mr Filch. If the rest of your house could follow.”

“Wait!” Sarah cried without thinking.

Professor McGonagall turned toward her, a severe eyebrow raised.

“What about those that want to fight?” Sarah asked, looking desperately at Blaise, Theo and Pansy. “Surely, they’re allowed to stay.”

“I doubt that – “ Professor McGonagall started.

“I want to fight.” Pansy stood up and twirled her wand in her fingers. “We can’t have dear Potter taking _all_ the glory, can we?”

Blaise and Theo joined her, identical smirks on their faces. Professor McGonagall blinked at them in surprise but said, “Very well. If you wish to stay, you may.”

Sarah beamed at them as the rest of the house trooped out of the Hall. A few older students remained seated and steadfastly ignored the looks some of the more prejudiced Slytherins gave them.

“Ravenclaws, follow on!” cried Professor McGonagall.

Slowly, the four tables emptied. A number of older Ravenclaws and a large number of Hufflepuffs remained seated, and half of Gryffindor remained in their seats, necessitating Professor McGonagall’s descent from the teacher’s platform to chivvy the under-age on their way.

“Absolutely not, Creevey, go! _And_ you, Peakes!”

Harry hurried over to the Weasleys, all sitting together at the Gryffindor table. Draco followed him as Sarah raced across to the Slytherin table.

“Stay together,” she told the small group. “The Death Eaters will likely try to eliminate you one-by-one, so watch each other’s backs.”

“We know how to duel, darling,” Blaise said, patting her cheek.

“It’s _fighting_ , not _duelling_ ,” Sarah snapped, worry coating her voice. “I need you all to be safe.”

“And what about you, Sarah?” Millicent asked. Sarah was surprised that the girl was talking to her again. “Will you stay safe?”

Sarah shrugged one shoulder at her. “Honestly? With Harry at my side, definitely not.”

Theo went to open his mouth but stopped when Kingsley stepped forward on the raised platform to address those who had remained behind.

“We’ve only got half an hour until midnight, so we need to act fast! A battle plan has been agreed between the teachers of Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix. Professor Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall are going to take groups of fighters up to the three highest Tower – Ravenclaw, Astronomy and Gryffindor – where they’ll have a good overview, excellent positions from which to work spells. Meanwhile, Remus, Sirius,” he indicated the pair, “Arthur,” he pointed towards Mr Weasley, sitting at the Gryffindor table, “and I will take groups into the grounds. We’ll need somebody to organise defence of the entrances of the passageways into the school – “

“ – sounds like a job for us,” called Fred, indicating himself and George, and Kingsley nodded his approval.

“All right, leaders up here and we’ll divide up the troops!”

“Potter,” Sarah heard Professor McGonagall say as students flooded the platform, jostling for position, receiving instructions, “ _aren’t you supposed to be looking for something_?”

Sarah ran toward them, dodging students and Order members as the Great Hall quickly began to empty.

“Then go, Potter, go!”

“Right – yeah – “

Harry caught Sarah’s eye and began to race out of the Hall, Draco hot on his heels. She veered after them and followed them up the marble staircase. Soon, Harry slowed down, coming to a halt halfway along an empty passage and sat down upon a plinth Sarah was sure once held a statute.

“What did you find out about the diadem?” Sarah immediately demanded as soon as she skidded to a halt in front of him.

“No one’s seen it for years,” Draco said, rubbing a hand over his face. “There’s not a single person in living memory who knows about it.”

Harry suddenly perked up.

“Of course!” he exclaimed. ” _Living memory_! Who’s the ghost of Ravenclaw?”

“The Grey Lady?” Sarah said in surprise. “Oh, I see! She was down with the other ghosts in the Great Hall – “

No sooner had the words left her mouth was Harry running back the way they came.

“Oh for fuck’s sake - “ swore Draco, spinning around and grabbing Sarah’s hand to drag her along with him.

They forced their way through the tide of students, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs. Prefects were shouting instructions, trying to keep track of the students in their own houses; there was much pushing and shoving; Sarah saw Zacharias Smith bowling over first-years to get to the front of the queue; here and there younger students were in tears, while older ones called desperately for friends or siblings…

“There! That’s her over there, Harry!” Sarah shouted. “The young woman with the long hair!”

She saw them looking at her, raised her eyebrows, and drifted away through a solid wall.

They ran after her. Once through the door of the corridor in which she had disappeared, they saw her at the very end of the passage, still gliding smoothly away from them.

Harry shouted at her, “Her – wait – come back!”

She consented to pause, floating a few inches from the ground. Sarah supposed that she was beautiful, with her waist-length hair and floor-length cloak, but she also looked haughty and proud.

“You’re the Grey Lady?” Harry asked.

She nodded but did not speak.

“The ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?”

“I just told you that,” Sarah hissed at Harry.

“That is correct,” said the Grey Lady.

Her tone was not encouraging.

“Please: we need some help. We need to know anything you can tell us about the lost diadem,” Draco beseeched her.

A cold smile curved her lips.

“I am afraid,” she said, turning to leave, “that I cannot help you.”

“WAIT!”

Harry had obviously not meant to shout, but Sarah could not blame him; the panic and anger threatening to overwhelm her was probably also flowing through his veins.

“This is urgent,” Harry said fiercely. “If that diadem’s at Hogwarts, I’ve got to find it, fast.”

“You are hardly the first student to covert the diadem,” she said disdainfully. “Generations of students have badgered me – “

“This isn’t about trying to get better marks!” Harry shouted at her. “It’s about Voldemort – defeating Voldemort – or aren’t you interested in that?”

She could not blush, but her transparent cheeks became more opaque, and her voice was heated as she replied, “Of course I – how dare you suggest - ?”

“Well, help us, then!”

Her composure was slipping.

“It – it is not a question of – “ she stammered. “My mother’s diadem – “

“You’re Helena Ravenclaw?” Sarah said in surprise.

The Grey Lady looked angry at herself.

“You must have known what happened to the diadem?” Sarah pressed. “ _Please_.”

The Grey Lady remained quite still, floating in midair, staring down at them, and a sense of hopelessness engulfed Sarah. Of course, if she had known anything, she would have told Flitwick or Dumbledore, who had surely asked her the same question. Sarah was about to pull the others away to leave when the Grey Lady spoke in a low voice.

“I stole the diadem from my mother.”

“You – you did _what_?”

“ _I stole the diadem_ ,” repeated Helena Ravenclaw in a whisper. “I sought to make myself cleverer, more important than my mother. I ran away with it.”

None of them spoke, they simply listened, hard, as she went on, “My mother, they say, never admitted that the diadem was gone, but pretended that she had it still. She concealed her loss, my dreadful betrayal, even from the other founders of Hogwarts. Then my mother fell ill – fatally ill. In spite of my perfidy, she was desperate to see me one more time. She sent a man who had long loved me, though I spurned his advances, to find me. She knew that he would not rest until he had done so.”

They waited. She drew a deep breath and threw back her head.

“He tracked me to the forest where I was hiding. When I refused to return with him, he became violent. The Baron was always a hot-tempered man. Furious at my refusal, jealous of my freedom, he stabbed me.”

“The _Baron_? You mean – “ Draco said in shock.

“The Bloody Baron, yes,” said the Grey Lady, and she lifted aside the cloak she wore to reveal a single dark wound in her white chest. “When he saw what he had done, he was overcome with remorse. He took the weapon that had claimed my life, and used it to kill himself. All these centuries later, he wears his chains as an act of penitence…as he should,” she added bitterly.

“And…and the diadem?” Harry said haltingly.

“It remained where I had hidden it when I heard the Baron blundering through the forest towards me. Concealed inside a hollow tree.”

“A hollow tree?” repeated Sarah. “What tree? Where was this?”

“A forest in Albania. A lonely place I thought was far beyond my mother’s reach.”

“Albania,” repeated Harry. Sarah was starting to understand why the Grey Lad hadn’t told this to Flitwick or Dumbledore. Harry seemed to understand as well, for he said, “You’ve already told someone this story, haven’t you? Another student?”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

“I had…no idea…he was…flattering. He seemed to…to understand…to sympathise…”

Yes, thought Sarah, Tom Riddle would certainly have understood Helena Ravenclaw’s desire to possess fabulous objects to which she had little right.

“ – the night he asked for a job!” Harry said suddenly.

“What?” Draco said in surprise.

“He hid the diadem in the castle, the night he asked Dumbledore to let him teach!” explained Harry. “He must have hidden the diadem on his way up to, or down from, Dumbledore’s office! But it was still worth trying to get the job – then he might’ve got the chance to nick Gryffindor’s sword as well – thank you, thanks!”

He suddenly started running again and Sarah and Draco had no choice but to follow him.

“Harry! Harry! Talk to us!” Draco shouted as they pounded down the stone corridors.

They had only taken a few more steps down a new corridor when the window to their left broke open with a deafening, shattering crash. Sarah screamed and jumped aside as a gigantic body flew in through the window and hit the opposite wall. Something large and furry detached itself, whimpering, from the new arrival and flung itself at Sarah.

“Hagrid!” Harry bellowed as Sarah fought off Fang the boarhound’s attention. “What the - ?

“Harry, yer here! And Sarah and Draco! _Yer here!”_

Hagrid stooped down, bestowed upon them a cursory rib-cracking hug, then ran back to the shattered window.

“Good boy, Grawpy!” he bellowed through the hole in the window. “I’ll see yer in a moment, there’s a good lad!”

Beyond Hagrid, out in the dark night, Sarah saw bursts of light in the distance and heard a weird, keening scream. She looked down at Harry’s watch: it was midnight. The battle had begun.

“Blimey,” panted Hagrid, “this is it, eh? Time ter fight?”

“Hagrid, where have you come from?” Sarah asked incredulously.

“Heard You-Know-Who from up in our cave,” said Hagrid grimly. “Voice carried, didn’ it? Knew yeh mus’ be here, knew what mus’ be happenin’. So we come ter join in, me an’ Grawp an’ Fang. Smashed our way through the boundary by the forest, Grawpy was carryin’ us. Told him ter let me down at the castle so he shoved me through the window, bless him. Not exac’ly what I meant, bu’ – where’s Ron an’ Hermione?”

“That,” said Harry, “is a really good question. Come on.”

As they hurried down the corridor, Fang lolloping beside them, Sarah’s mind raced with possibilities of where the diadem could be hidden. Where would Voldemort have thought was a place only he knew…that no one else would ever be able to find…a place that could hold a million hidden things…

“Harry!” she screeched. “It’s in the Room of Requirement! The Room of Hidden Things!”

“Of course!” he replied, eyes blazing. “Voldemort would have been arrogant enough to assume that he was the only one to know Hogwarts’ secrets. You’re brilliant, Sarah!”

They nearly collided with Professor Sprout, who was thundering past followed by Neville and a half dozen others, all of them wearing earmuffs and carrying what appeared to be large potted plants.

“Mandrakes!” Neville bellowed at them over his shoulder as he ran. “Going to lob them over the walls – they won’t like this!”

Now knowing where to go, the three of them, plus Hagrid and Fang, began to run as fast as they could for the entrance to the Room of Requirement. They passed portrait after portrait, and the painted figures raced alongside them, wizards and witches in ruffs and breeches, in armour and cloaks, cramming themselves into each other’s canvases, screaming news from other parts of the castle. As they reached the end of this corridor, the whole castle shook and Sarah knew, as a gigantic vase blew off its plinth with explosive force, that it was in the grip of enchantments more sinister than those of the teachers and the Order.

“It’s all righ’, Fang – it’s all righ’!” yelled Hagrid, but the great boarhound had taken flight as slivers of china flew like shrapnel through the air, and Hagrid pounded off after the terrified dog, leaving Sarah, Harry and Draco alone.

They forged on through the trembling passages, their wands at the ready, and for the length of one corridor the little painted knight, Sir Cadogan, rushed from painting to painting beside them, clanking along in his armour, screaming encouragement, his fat little pony cantering behind him.

“Braggarts and rouges, dogs and scoundrels, drive them out, Harry Potter, see them off!”

The three of them hurtled around a corner and found Fred and a small know of students, including Lee Jordan and Hannah Abbott, standing beside another empty plinth, whose statue had concealed a secret passageway. Their wands were drawn and they were listening at the concealed hole.

“Go get ‘em, babe!” Fred shouted, as the castle quaked again, and Sarah sprinted by, elated and terrified in equal measure. Along yet another corridor they dashed, and then there were owls everywhere, and Mrs Norris was hissing and trying to bat them with her paws, no doubt to return them to their proper place…

“Potter!”

Aberforth Dumbledore stood blocking the corridor ahead, his wand held ready.

“I’ve had hundreds of kids thundering through my pub, Potter!”

“I know, we’re evacuating,” Harry said. “Voldemort’s – “

“ – attacking because they haven’t handed you over, yeah,” said Aberforth. “I’m not deaf, the whole of Hogsmeade heard him. And it never occurred to you to keep a few Slytherins hostage? There are kids of Death Eaters you’ve just sent to safety. Wouldn’t it have been a bit smarter to keep ‘em here?”

“How _dare_ you – !” Sarah said, preparing the stride forward, but Harry grabbed her arm and held her back. “They are _children!”_

“It wouldn’t stop Voldemort,” said Harry, already leading Sarah down the corridor away from Aberforth, “and your brother would never have done it.”

And then they skidded around a final corner and with a yell of mingled relief and fury, they saw them: Ron and Hermione, both with their arms full of large, curved, dirty yellow objects, Ron with a broomstick under his arm.

“Where the _hell_ have you been?” Harry shouted.

“Chamber of Secrets,” said Ron. “Didn’t Sarah tell you?”

“He wouldn’t listen!” she cried.

“Anyway, we’re another Horcrux down,” said Ron, and from under his jacket he pulled the mangled remains of Hufflepuff’s cup. “Hermione stabbed it. Thought she should. She hasn’t had the pleasure yet.”

“I dibbs the diadem!” Sarah said loudly.

“Genius!” yelled Harry, smiling at Ron.

“It was nothing,” said Ron, though he looked delighted with himself. “So what’s new with you?”

As he said it, there was an explosion from overhead: all five of them looked up as dust fell from the ceiling and they heard a distant scream.

“We know what the diadem looks like, and we know where it is,” said Harry, talking fast. “He hit it exactly where I hit my old Potions book, where everyone’s been hiding stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it. Come on.”

As the walls trembled again, Harry led Sarah and the others back through the concealed entrance and down the staircase into the Room of Requirement. It was empty except for three women: Ginny, Tonks and an elderly with wearing a moth-eaten hat, whom Sarah recognised immediately as Neville’s grandmother.

“Ah, Potter,” she said crisply, as if she had been waiting for Harry. “You can tell us what’s going on.”

“Is everyone okay?” said Ginny and Tonks together.

“As far as we know,” said Sarah. “Are there still people in the passage to the Hog’s Head?”

“I was the last to come through,” said Mrs Longbottom. “I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now Aberforth has left his pub. Have you seen my grandson?”

“He’s fighting,” said Draco.

“Naturally,” said the old lady, proudly. “Excuse me, I must go and assist him.”

With surprising speed, she trotted off towards the stone steps. Sarah looked at Tonks. “I thought you were supposed to be with Teddy at your mother’s?”

“I couldn’t just sit there while everyone else was here.” Tonks looked anguished. “She’ll look after him – have you seen Remus or Sirius or anyone?”

“They were planning to lead a group of fighters into the grounds – “

Without another word, Tonks sped off.

“Ginny,” said Harry, “I’m sorry, but we need you to leave too. Just for a bit. Then you can come back in.”

Ginny looked simply delighted to leave her sanctuary.

“And then you can come back in!” Ron shouted after her, as she ran up the steps after Tonks. “ _You’ve got to come back in!_ ”

Ron paused then and turned to them suddenly.

“Hang on a moment!” he said sharply. “We’ve forgotten someone!”

“Who?” asked Hermione.

“The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?”

“You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Sarah.

“No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want any more Dobbys, do we? We can’t order them to die for us – “

There was a clatter as the Basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.

Sarah and Draco cooed at them in delight as Harry said weakly, “Is this the moment?” and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. “OI! There’s a war going on here!”

Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other.

“I know, mate,” said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, “so it’s now or never, isn’t it?”

“Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?” Harry shouted. “D’you think you could just – just hold it in until we’ve got the diadem?”

“Yeah – right – sorry – “ said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering up fangs, both pink in the face.

“Come on, Harry, it’s about time!” whined Sarah. “Give them _at least_ one good snog!”

“You don’t see me eating Draco’s face off right now, do you?” he exclaimed. Draco looked entirely too interested by the idea and Harry smacked the back of his head lightly. “Mind here, please.”

It was clear, as the three of them stepped back into the corridor upstairs, that in the minutes that they had spent in the Room of Requirement the situation within the castle had deteriorated severely: the walls and ceiling were shaking worse than ever; dust filled the air and through the nearest window Sarah saw bursts of green and red light so close to the foot of the castle that she knew the Death Eaters must be very near to entering the place. Looking down, Sarah saw Grawp the giant meandering past, swinging what looked like a stone gargoyle torn from the roof and roaring his displeasure.

“Let’s hope he steps on some of them!” said Ron, as more screams echoed from close by.

“As long as it’s not any of our lot!” said a voice: Sarah turned and saw Ginny and Tonks, both with their wands drawn at the next window, which was missing several panes. Even as she watched, Ginny sent a well-aimed jinx into a crowd of fighter below.

“Good girl!” roared a figure running through the dust towards them, and Sarah saw Aberforth again, his grey hair flying as he led a small group of students past. “They look like they might be breaching the North Battlements, they’ve brought giants of their own!”

Tonks ran off into the dust after Aberforth.

Ginny turned, helpless, to Sarah, Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione.

“They’ll be all right,” said Sarah, though she knew they were empty words.

“Ginny, we’ll be back in a moment, just keep out of the way, keep safe!” Ron said as they began to run back to the stretch of wall beyond which the Room of Requirement was waiting to do the bidding of the next entrant.

 _We need the place where everything is hidden_ , Sarah begged of it, inside her head, and the door materialised on their third run past.

The furore of the battle died the moment they crossed the threshold and closed the door behind them: all was silent. They were in a place the size of a cathedral with the appearance of a city, its towering walls built of objects hidden by thousands of long-gone students.

“And he never realised _anyone_ could get in?” said Draco, his voice echoing in the silence.

“He thought he was the only one,” said Harry. “Too bad for him I’ve had to hide stuff in my time…this way,” he added, “I think it’s down here…”

Trusting that he knew what he was doing, Sarah and the others followed him down the first winding path. They passed a stuffed troll and the Vanishing Cabinet Vincent Crabbe had mended last year with such disastrous consequences, then Harry hesitated, looking up and down aisles of junk.

“Let’s split up,” Harry told them. “Look for a stone bust of an old man wearing a wig and a tiara! It’s standing on a cupboard and it’s definitely somewhere near here…”

They sped off up adjacent aisles; Sarah could hear the others’ footsteps echoing through the towering piles of junk, of bottles, hats, crates, chairs, books, weapons, broomsticks, bats…

She rounded a corner and nearly crashed into somebody. Jumping backward, her wand raised, she realised with horror that she was staring into the cruel face of Gregory Goyle. She prepared to utter a curse when he did something she never would have expected: he raised a finger to his lips and glanced worriedly behind him.

“You need to get out of here,” he whispered. Sarah stared at him, open-mouthed. “I mean it, Sarah. Find the others and get out. Vince is here too. He wants Potter.”

“Why – why?”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Goyle muttered. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Then why are you?” she said quietly. “You could be on our side – _you could_ _help us_!”

“I can’t,” he said in a distraught voice. “My father would kill me – Vince would kill me…”

“Goyle! Where are you!”

Sarah and Goyle both jumped as a voice issued close to them. Goyle pushed Sarah gently back the way she came.

“Go, _go_!” he pleaded, before turning around and lumbering through the piles of junk.

Sarah didn’t wait another second. She spun around and ran back through the aisle, desperately looking for one of her friends.

She skidded to a halt when she heard loud voices ahead.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_

Sarah burst through a wall of objects in time to see Harry disarm Crabbe, sending his wand flying away.

“Curse him, Goyle! Curse him!” Crabbe was screaming.

“ _Stupefy!”_ shouted Sarah.

Her spell narrowly missed Crabbe as he jumped out of the way at the last second. It collided with a wall of junk, which exploded, causing them all to take several steps back. Sarah raced towards Harry, who was diving toward a nearby pile, frantically scrabbling through the various objects.

A jet of scarlet light shot past Sarah by inches: Hermione had run around the corner behind her and sent a Stunning Spell straight at Crabbe’s head. He dove out of the way, picking his wand up from the ground.

“It’s that Mudblood! _Avada Kedavra!”_

Sarah saw Hermione dive aside and her fury that Crabbe had aimed to kill wiped all else from her mind. She shot a Stunning Spell at Crabbe, who lurched out of the way, knocking Goyle’s wand out of his hand; it rolled out of sight beneath a mountain of broken furniture and boxes. He leapt, trying to retrieve it as Ron appeared suddenly at the end of the aisle, shooting a full Body-Bind Curse at Crabbe, which narrowly missed.

“I’ve got it!” Harry yelled, pulling an old tiara out of the pile.

A roaring, billowing noise behind her gave her a moment’s warning. She turned and saw both Ron and Crabbe running as hard as they could up the aisle towards them.

“HARRY!” screamed Sarah.

“Like it hot, scum?” roared Crabbe as he ran.

But he seemed to have no control over what he had done. Flames of abnormal size were pursuing them, licking up the sides of the junk bulwarks, which were crumbling to soot at their touch.

“RUN!”

They all scattered: Crabbe outstripped them all, now looking terrified; Sarah, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Goyle pelted along in his wake, and the fire pursued them. It was not normal fire; Crabbe had used Fiendfyre, a curse Sarah only knew about in theory. As they turned a corner the flames chased them as though they were alive, sentient, intent upon killing them. Now the fire was mutating, forming a gigantic pack of fiery beasts: flaming serpents, Chimaeras and dragons rose and fell and rose again, and the detritus of centuries on which they were feeding was thrown up in the air into their fanged mouths, tossed high on clawed feet, before being consumed by the inferno.

Crabbe and Goyle had vanished from view: Sarah, Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped dead; the fiery monsters were circling above them, drawing closer and closer, claws and horns and tails lashed, and the heat was solid around them.

“DRACO!” Sarah screamed, the smoke burning her lungs. “ _DRACO!”_

“What can we do?” Hermione screamed over the deafening roars of the fire. “What can we do?”

“HARRY! SARAH! RON! HERMIONE!”

Sarah nearly wept with relief as Draco appeared above them. He was on a broom and had three others in his arms.

“CATCH!” 

He threw the heavy-looking brooms down to them and they all jumped on, Hermione sliding on behind Ron. They soared up into the air, missing by feet the horned beak of a flaming raptor that snapped its jaws at them. The smoke and heat were becoming overwhelming: below them the cursed fire was consuming the contraband of generations of hunted students, the guilty outcomes of a thousand banned experiments, the secrets of the countless souls who had sought refuge in the room.

“Let’s get out, let’s get out!” bellowed Ron, though it was impossible to see where the door was through the black smoke.

And then Sarah heard a thin, piteous human scream from amidst the terrible commotion, the thunder of devouring flame.

“We can’t leave them!” Sarah shouted, shooting forward.

“It’s – too – dangerous - !” Ron yelled, but Harry and Draco wheeled in the air and followed her.

She raked the firestorm below, seeking a sign of life, a limb or a face that was not yet charred like wood.

And she saw him. Perched on a fragile tower of charred desks, stood Goyle, desperately clinging for his life. She knew he was too heavy for her to grab.

“I can’t grab him!” she shouted.

“IF WE DIE FOR HIM, I’LL KILL YOU, SARAH!” roared Ron’s voice, and as a great, flaming Chimaera bore down upon them, Draco and Harry appeared beside Goyle.

“Sarah, catch!” Harry shouted, throwing her the old tiara.

Both boys heaved Goyle onto the back of Draco’s broom and then they all shot off like bullets toward where they hoped the door was. Following Ron and Hermione through the billowing black smoke, hardly able to breath, Sarah watched as all around them, the last few objects unburned by the devouring flames were flung into the air, as the creatures of the cursed fire cast them high in celebration.

Sarah swerved as a serpent lunged at her, she soared upwards and straight towards where Ron, Hermione, Harry, Draco and Goyle had vanished. Then, through the smoke, Sarah saw a rectangular patch on the wall and steered the broom at it, and moments later clean air filled her lungs and she collided with the wall in the corridor beyond.

She fell off the broom, rolled over and sat up: the door to the Room of Requirement had vanished and Draco, Ron, Hermione and Harry sat panting on the floor beside Goyle, who looked shellshocked.

“Are you all right?” Sarah asked him.

“V-Vince,” he choked.

“He’s dead,” said Ron harshly.

Goyle’s face collapsed in a mix of grief and relief.

“Greg,” Sarah said firmly. “Greg, listen to me. You need to find somewhere to hide. Wait until all this is over and then I’ll find you, or you find me, okay? _Okay_?”

He nodded weakly at her.

“Go now,” she urged, helping him to his feet. “ _Go_!”

She watched him leave down the hall and then turned back to the others. It was only then that she realised one hand was still tightly clasped around the diadem. It was still hot, blackened with soot, but as she looked at it closely she was just able to make out the tiny words etched upon it: _Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure_.

A blood-like substance, dark and tarry, seemed to be leaking from the diadem. Suddenly, Sarah felt the thing vibrate violently, then break apart in her hands, and as it did so, she thought she heard the faintest, most distant scream of pain, echoing not from the grounds or the castle, but from the thing that had just fragmented in her fingers.

“It must have been the Fiendfyre,” Draco said weakly, his eyes on the broken pieces.

“This means, if we can just get the snake – “ Hermione whispered.

But she broke off as yells and shouts and the unmistakable noises of duelling filled the corridor. Sarah looked around and her heart seemed to fail: Death Eaters had penetrated Hogwarts. Fred, George and Percy had just backed into view, the three of them duelling masked and hooded men.

Sarah, Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione ran forwards to help: jets of light flew in every direction and the man duelling Percy backed off, fast: then his hood slipped and they saw a high forehead and streaked hair –

“Hello, Minister!” bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. “Did I mention I’m resigning?”

“You’re joking, Perce!” shouted Fred, as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of five separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him: he seemed to turning into some form of a sea urchin. George looked at Percy with glee.

“You actually _are_ joking, Perce…I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were – “

The air exploded. They had been grouped together, Sarah, Draco, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Fred, George and Percy, the two Death Eaters at their feet Stunned, the other Transfigured: and in that fragment of a moment, when danger seemed, temporarily, at bay, the world was rent apart. Sarah felt herself flying through the air, and all she could do was hold as tightly as possible to that thin stick of wood that was her one and only weapon and shield her head in her arms: she heard the screams and yells of her companions without a hope of knowing what had happened to them –

And then the world resolved itself into pain and semi-darkness: she was half-buried in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a terrible attack: cold air told her that the side of the castle had been blown away and hot stickiness on her cheek told her that she was bleeding copiously. Then she heard a terrible cry that pulled at her insides, that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause, and she stood up, swaying, more frightened than she had been that day, more frightened, perhaps, than she had been in her entire life…

And Hermione and Draco and Harry were struggling to their feet in the wreckage and four red-headed men were grouped on the ground where the wall had blasted apart. Sarah stumbled and staggered forward over stone and wood.

“No – no – no!” someone was shouting. “No! George! NO!”

And Fred was shaking his brother, and Ron and Percy were kneeling beside them, and George’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Sarah dropped to her knees beside Fred and held her wand tight in her hand. Blinking dust and tears out of her eyes, she began casting any spell she could think of over George’s body.

“Come on,” she pleaded, “ _Come on_!”

Sarah’s mind was in freefall, spinning out of control, unable to grasp the impossibility, because George Weasley could not be dead, the evidence of all her senses must be lying –

And then a body fell past the hole blown into the side of the school and curses flew in at them from the darkness, hitting the wall behind their heads.

“Get down!” Harry shouted, as more curses flew through the night: he and Ron had both grabbed Hermione and pulled her to the floor, but Percy and Fred lay across George’s body, shielding it from further harm, and when Harry shouted, “Percy, Fred, come on, we’ve got to move!” they shook their head.

“Sarah!” Draco called to her but she couldn’t move, couldn’t _leave_ them. “You can’t do anything for him! We’re going to – “

Hermione screamed, and Sarah, turning, did not need to ask why. A monstrous spider the size of a small car was trying to climb through the huge hole in the wall: one of Aragog’s descendants had joined the fight.

Ron and Harry shouted together; their spells collided and the monster was blown backwards, its legs jerking horribly, and vanished into the darkness.

“It brought friends!” Harry called to the others. “Let’s move, NOW!”

Sarah was dimly aware of Draco grabbing her arm and leading her further down the corridor as Percy, Fred and Harry carried George’s body, Ron and Hermione clearing a path in front of them. They stopped in a niche were a suit of armour had stood earlier. The boys, gently placed the George’s body on the ground and Fred crouched down beside him again. At the end of the corridor, which was now full of dust and falling masonry, glass long gone from the windows, Sarah saw many people running backwards and forwards, whether friends or foes, she could not tell. Looking up, Percy let out a null-like roar, “ROOKWOOD!” and sprinted off in the direction of a tall man, who was pursuing a couple of students.

“We have to go!” Draco shouted, trying to tug Sarah away but she wouldn’t budge.

“I’m not leaving him,” she said, staring at Fred, who was still kneeling above his brother’s body, face slack with grief.

Sarah turned to the others and saw her own grief reflected on their faces. Ron had tear tracks streaking the grime on his face.

“You need to go on,” she said firmly. “I’m staying with Fred and G-George.”

Draco was already shaking his head.

“I’ll find you later!” she said. “Go get the snake – go get that _bastard_! I can’t – _I_ _can’t leave them.”_

Harry gripped her shoulder tightly.

“Come back to us,” he whispered.

“Come back to me,” she replied.

She watched as the four of them disappeared and then she dropped to her knees beside Fred. She touched his hand tentatively and he raised his head to look at her with pain-filled eyes.

“Fred, we have to move him,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “We have to take him to – to the Great Hall. He’ll be safe. But I can’t do it alone, I need your help.”

Fred nodded slowly and Sarah couldn’t bear to see hopeless expression on his face. She stood up and pulled Fred gently to his feet.

“You need to carry him or – or Levitate him,” she instructed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ll guard us. You just worry about George, okay?”

Fred nodded again and drew his wand. His hand shook slightly as he silently cast a spell at George’s body before taking it securely into his arms.

“Let’s go,” Sarah said, walking out of the niche with her wand raised.

They hurried down as the corridors as fast as they could, jumping back as a herd of galloping desk thundered past, shepherded by a sprinting Professor McGonagall. The portraits on either side of the fighters were crammed with figures, screaming advice and encouragement, while Death Eaters both masked and unmasked duelled students and teachers. Dean had won himself a wand, for he was face to face with Dolohov, Parvati with Travers. Sarah raised her wand, ready to strike, but the duellers were weaving and darting around so much that there was a strong likelihood of hurting one of their own side if she cast curses. Even as she stood braced, Fred behind her, looking for an opportunity to act, there came a great ‘ _wheeeeeeee!’_ and, looking up, Sarah saw Peeves zooming over them, dropping Snargaluff pods down on to the Death Eaters, whose heads were suddenly engulfed in wriggling, green tubers like fat worms.

A Death Eater appeared before Sarah and she shot the Burning Curse at him immediately, not even stopping as he danced around, flames liking his robes and body. She and Fred dodged their way through multiple duels, ducking into alcoves and corridors to avoid spells, creatures, and debris.

There were more duellers all over the stairs and in the corridors leading to the Hall. Soon, Sarah was becoming overwhelmed with the amount of blocking and attacking she was doing, but her rage and grief was fuelling her magic, making it erratic and more powerful; simple spells doubled in quantity and blew Death Eaters off their feet, through walls and windows. A body slammed into her and Sarah only barely managed not to curse them as a familiar face looked down at her.

“Sarah!” Lee said, his dark skin covered in dust and blood. “Where are the others - ?”

He looked behind her and saw Fred and she saw the exact moment that his eyes dropped to the body in his arms.

“Is that – _no_ …” he moaned, gripping Sarah’s arm as he swayed.

“We’re taking him to the Great Hall,” Sarah said.

“I’m coming with you,” Lee announced, immediately spinning around and marching through the crowd of fighting people.

They entered the hall and there were Death Eaters everywhere Sarah looked: Yaxley, close to the front doors, in combat with Flitwick, a masked Death Eater duelling Kingsley right beside them. Students ran in every direction, some carrying or dragging injured friends. Sarah directed a Stunning Spell towards the masked Death Eater, it missed but nearly hit Neville, who had emerged from nowhere brandishing armfuls of Venomous Tentacula, which looped itself happily around the nearest Death Eater and began reeling him in.

Sarah, Fred and Lee sped down the marble staircase: glass shattered to their left and the Slytherin hourglass that had recorded house points spilled its emeralds everywhere, so that people slipped and staggered as they ran. Two bodies fell from the balcony overhead as they reached the ground and a grey blur sped four-legged across the hall to sink its teeth into one of the fallen.

“NO!” shrieked Sarah, and with a deafening blast from her wand Fenrir Greyback was thrown backwards from the feebly stirring body of Lavender Brown. He hit the marble banisters and struggled to return to his feet. Then, with a bright white flash and a crack, a crystal ball fell on top of his head and he crumpled to the ground and did not move.

“I have more!” shrieked Professor Trelawny from over the banisters, “more for any who want them! Here – “

And with a movement like a serve, she heaved another enormous crystal sphere from her bag, waved her wand through the air, and caused the ball to speed across the hall and smash through a window. At the same time, the heavy wooden front doors burst open, and more of the gigantic spiders forced their way into the entrance hall.

Screams of terror rent the air: the fighters scattered, Death Eaters and Hogwarts alike, and red and green jets flew into the midst of the oncoming monsters, which shuddered and reared, more terrifying than ever.

“How do we get past?” yelled Lee over all the screaming, but before either Sarah or Fred could answer they were bowled aside: Hagrid had come thundering down the stairs, brandishing his flowery pink umbrella.

“Don’t hurt ‘em, don’t hurt ‘em!” he yelled.

“HAGRID, NO!” Sarah screamed hysterically. “HAGRID, COME BACK!”

But she was nowhere near him when it happened: Hagrid vanished amongst the spiders, and with a great scurrying, a foul swarming movement, most of them retreated under the onslaught of spells, Hagrid buried in their midst.

“HAGRID!”

The rest of the spiders swarmed forward and Sarah didn’t think. She stepped in front of them and shouted, with as much fury and pain and fear as she could possibly draw from her body.

_“BOMBARDA MAXIMA!”_

The space in front of her exploded as raw power surged out of her wand. The spiders all went flying into the air, legs and chunks of their flanks disappearing out of the hall. The giant oak doors were blown off their hinges and flipped end-over-end down the steps, landing on the lawn on top of a few surviving spiders.

Sarah staggered forward a step, Lee gripping her shoulder tightly, when a large shadow filled their vision. She looked up: a giant stood before them, peering through the open doorway, twenty feet high, grey, mottled skin filling all possible space.

“Holy shit!” shrieked Lee, pulled Sarah back to where Fred was standing, still clutching George’s body to his chest.

“HAGGER?”

Sarah couldn’t believe her eyes when the giant was suddenly pulled back from the doorway to reveal the lumpy feet of Grawp, wrestled with the larger giant until they were much farther down the lawn, away from the castle.

“Sarah, let’s go!” Lee said, but at that moment, a terrible cold had settled upon them.

The air had frozen: Sarah’s breath caught and solidified in her chest. Shapes moved out in the darkness, swirling figures of concentrated blackness, moving in a great wave towards the castle, their faces hooded and their breath rattling.

Lee and a few other students closed in beside Sarah as the sounds of fighting behind them grew suddenly muted, deadened, because a silence only Dementors could bring was falling thickly through the night…

“Come on, Sarah!” said Lee’s voice, from a very long way away, “Patronuses, Sarah, come on!”

She raised her wand, but a dull hopelessness was spreading through her: George was gone, Hagrid was surely dying or already dead, she didn’t know where Remus or Sirius were or if they were alive, and the last time she had seen her friends, they were running towards Voldemort…

“SARAH, COME ON!” screamed Lee.

A hundred dementors were advancing, gliding towards them, sucking their way closer to Sarah’s despair, which was like a promise of a feast…

She saw Lee’s silver shaggy dog burst into the air, flicker feebly and expire, and her own wand trembled in her hand, and she almost welcomed the oncoming oblivions, the promise of nothing, of no feeling…

And then a silver hare, a boar and a fox soared past Sarah, Fred and Lee: the Dementors feel back before the creatures’ approach. Three more people had arrived from the dark corridors to stand beside them, their wands outstretched, continuing to cast their Patronuses: Luna, Ernie and Seamus.

“That’s right,” said Luna encouragingly, as if they were back in the Room of Requirement and this was simple spell practice for the DA. “That’s right, Sarah…come on, think of something happy…”

“Something happy?” she said, her voice cracked.

“We’re all still here,” Luna whispered, “we’re still fighting. Come on, now…”

Sarah felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She looked around to see that Fred had stepped up behind her, having given George over to Lee. He wrapped an arm around her and a silver spark sputtered out of her wand. With the greatest effort it had ever cost her, the lynx burst from the end of Sarah’s wand. It leapt forwards, and now the Dementors scattered in earnest, and immediately the night was mild again, but the sounds of the surrounding battle were loud in her ears.

Until they suddenly weren’t.

“You have fought,” said a high, cold voice, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery.”

Voldemort’s voice reverberated from the walls and floor, and Sarah sagged back against Fred, tears streaming silently down her face.

“Yet you have sustained heavy losses,” continued Voldemort. “If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and waste…Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat, immediately…You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured…I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

The voice dissipated and sound flowed back to Sarah’s ears. All around her, Death Eaters fled the castle as students and adults were left watching in exhausted confusion.

“Come on,” Fred said quietly in her ear, “we need to get into the Hall.”

She nodded blankly and led him turn her away from the doors. He took George’s body back from Lee and gripped Sarah’s free hand in one of his. Together, they walked into the crowded Great Hall, where people were already lining up the dead and the injured were being treated.

A horrible cry met their ears as they walked further into the Hall. Mrs Weasley had caught sight of them and she raced toward them, her face pale and distraught.

“George! _No_!” she sobbed. “Not my Georgie! _Not my boy_!”

Sarah wasn’t sure how she remained standing. She was distantly aware of Fleur taking her by the arm gently and leading them to the back of the Hall, where Fred gently placed George’s body on a conjured mat, then fell down beside him, his mother sobbing over the pair of them.

“Drink,” Fleur said. Sarah blinked back into reality and accepted the cup of water Fleur was offering her. Their small group – Sarah, Fleur, Bill, Fred, and Mrs Weasley – remained huddled around George’s body as the Hall began to fill with people. Mr Weasley and Percy arrived and collapsed beside Mrs Weasley and Fred, both with tears streaming down their faces.

Sarah couldn’t watch any longer. She turned away and her eyes caught on two figures entering the Hall, each carrying a body.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no, no, no!”

Fred looked up and saw where she was looking. He half got to his feet but she was already running.

“NO!” she shrieked, attracting the attention of everyone in the quiet Hall.

She stopped before Sirius and Kingsley, gazing down at Remus and Tonks.

“Sirius, please, no!” she begged him. “Tell me he’s not – that’s he’s not – “

“We don’t know what he was hit with,” Sirius said thickly. He gazed down at his husband’s still body and began to cry. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Remus!” Sarah said, falling with Sirius as the man’s legs failed him. They placed Remus’s body on the floor and Sarah gripped it hard. He couldn’t be dead. He _couldn’t._

She cast the one spell she hoped would work. Again and again. And again. And again.

“Sarah, you can’t do anything,” Sirius said, trying to tug her away.

“No!” she screamed. “Let me go, Sirius. _Let me go!_ He’s not dead! He’s not! _LET ME GO!”_

She hardly noticed the tears blurring her vision as she kept casting, praying to every god and goddess and otherworldly power she knew of to keep him alive, to bring him back to her.

“Remus, wake up!” she cried, burying her face in his chest. She started doing Muggle compressions, her movements hysterical and frenzied. “Wake up, wake up!”

“Sarah – “

“DON’T!”

“But – “

“HE’S NOT DEAD!”

“Sarah, _please_!”

But she wouldn’t listen.

_One, two, three, four, five, six…._

She kept counting and casting, not stopping even though hand tried to tug her away. She dropped her head to Remus’s chest, barely breathing, barely thinking –

A faint thump.

And then another.

She drew back and watched as her world started again, as Remus took a shuddering breath, his heartbeat getting stronger and stronger. Sarah let out a horrendous sob and latched onto Sirius, who was watching his husband breath as though it was the most glorious thing in the universe.

“You did it,” he whispered in Sarah’s ears as she sobbed into his chest. “You saved him.”

Sarah didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Madam Pomfrey came over at one point to take Remus away to put monitoring charms on him but still Sarah and Sirius did not move.

Finally, when Sarah felt as though she had no more tears left to cry, she drew back from Sirius. Together, they stood and walked slowly back down the Hall towards the Weasleys. The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. Sarah could not see George’s body, because his family surrounded him. Fred was kneeling at his head; Mrs Weasley was lying across Fred’s chest, her body shaking, Mr Weasley stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks. Ginny was curled into Bill’s arms and launched herself at Sarah when she and Sirius stopped before them. Sarah held the younger girl close to her before gently releasing her and kneeling next to Fred.

“I wish I could have saved him, too,” she whispered, her voice broken and guilt-ridden. “I should have – “

She was cut off by Fred turning to embrace her, hot tears falling onto her skin from where his face was buried in her neck. She gripped him tightly as he sobbed, doing exactly what she had done to Sirius only minutes earlier.

Light footsteps made her look up and she saw Ron, Hermione and Draco approaching. Ron immediately joined Bill, Fleur and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron’s shoulders. Hermione approached Ginny, her face blotchy and pale. Draco walked quietly up to Sirius and fell into him, his thin body shuddering with heaving cries.

“Draco, what happened?” Sarah said, still gripping Fred tightly.

“Se-Severus is dead,” Draco sobbed. “He’s dead, Sarah. And I never got to tell him – to tell him – “

Sarah’s heart shattered once more at her best friend’s sorrow. He had never gotten the opportunity to make things better between himself and his godfather. The one person who had treated Draco like a son was now gone…

“Where’s Harry?” Hermione asked suddenly.

Fred released her so that they could look around the Hall. There was no sign of the dark-haired boy.

“You don’t think - ?” Fred whispered.

“No,” Draco stated firmly. “No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.”

He had started to hyperventilate. Sarah got to her feet and wrapped her arms around him.

“Draco, you need to breathe,” she said calmly. “In and out, remember. _In and out_.”

He calmed his breathing slowly until it was steady again.

“He wouldn’t leave me,” he whispered, but everyone could hear him. “Not without saying goodbye.”

Sarah could say nothing to him.

The next hour was spent in a dull blur. Sarah helped Madam Pomfrey to keep her mind off the figures of the dead. Of Lavender, who’s face was ravaged even in death; of Tonks, who was leaving behind a beautiful baby boy. Sarah gripped the edge of Remus’s makeshift hospital bed to stop herself from collapsing.

“Are you alright, dear?” Madam Pomfrey asked her, her kind face scrunched up in worry.

“No,” admitted Sarah quietly. “But I’ll be okay.”

Madam Pomfrey frowned at her. “I can deal with this,” she said gently. “Go be with your family.”

Without any other choice, Sarah left the safety of the impromptu hospital and walked slowly back to the Weasleys. It was only as she was making her way there did she realise that the sound she thought had been her own heartbeat was actually the sound of tramping footsteps slowly getting closer and closer to the castle.

People slowly began to take notice, heads popping up tiredly and turning toward the Hall’s entrance. Sarah made her way to the doors where she was soon joined by Draco, Ron and Hermione. A massive wave of black was marching toward them and the occupants slowly trickled out of the Great Hall, Sarah and her friends leading them down the front steps to the front courtyard.

“Stop.”

The high, cold voice echoed across the empty courtyard as the Death Eaters stopped before them. Hagrid’s ginormous figure was led through the crowd but the relief Sarah felt at seeing him alive was quickly distinguished by the small shape lying dead in his arms.

“NO!”

The scream was more terrible because she had never expected or dreamed that Professor McGonagall could make such a sound. She heard another woman laughing nearby, and knew that Bellatrix glorified in McGonagall’s despair.

Sarah’s heart broke fully in her chest as she took in the prone figure of Harry, his dark hair messed beyond belief and his beautiful green eyes closed.

“No!”

“ _No!”_

“Harry! HARRY!”

Ron, Hermione and Draco’s voices were worse than McGonagall’s. Sarah held Draco upright as he sagged toward the ground, his pale face losing all of its colour as he gazed, heartbroken, at the body of his boyfriend.

“SILENCE!” cried Voldemort, and there was a bang and a flash of bright light, and silence was forced upon them all. “It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!”

Sarah held Draco back as he tried to push forward, tried to get to Harry – to stop him from being treated like a piece of trash – a nobody.

Sirius appeared beside Sarah and helped hold Draco. He drew the crying boy tightly to his chest, wrapping a strong arm around him even as he beat and fought against the restraint. Sirius looked as though he had aged a century in a few moments and Sarah knew he was doing everything he could to keep it together for them – for Draco.

“You see?” said Voldemort, striding backwards and forwards right beside the place where Harry lay. “Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!”

“He beat you!” yelled Draco, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful band extinguished their voices once more.

Sarah felt as though she were in a trance, one she could not escape from. Her chest felt hollow and not even Fred’s comforting presence behind her could make her feel anything except a blank emptiness – a sense that something so vital, so _special_ had been taken away from her.

“He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds,” said Voldemort, and there was relish in his voice at the obvious lie, “killed while trying to save himself – “

But Voldemort broke off: Neville had run forward and charged Voldemort. He hit the ground, Disarmed, Voldemort throwing his wand aside and laughing.

“And who is this?” he said, in his soft snake’s hiss. “Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?”

Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh.

“It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?”

“Ah, yes, I remember,” said Voldemort, looking down at Neville, who was struggling back to his feet, unarmed and unprotected, standing in the no-man’s-land between the survivors and the Death Eaters. “But you are a pureblood, aren’t you, my brave boy?” Voldemort asked Neville, who stood facing him, his empty hands curled in fists.

“So what if I am?” said Neville loudly.

“You show spirit, and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom.”

“I’ll join you when hell freezes over,” said Neville. “Dumbledore’s Army!” he shouted, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd, whom Voldemort’s silencing charms seemed unable to hold.

“Very well,” said Voldemort, and Sarah heard more danger in the silkiness of his voice than in the most powerful curse. “If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head,” he said quietly, “be it.”

Sarah watched as Voldemort waved his wand. Seconds later, out of one of the castle’s shattered windows, something that looked like a misshaped bird flew through the half-light and landed in Voldemort’s hand. He shook the mildewed object by its pointed end and it dangled, empty and ragged: the Sorting Hat.

“There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School,” said Voldemort. “There will be no more houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone, won’t they, Neville Longbottom?”

He pointed his wand at Neville, who grew rigid and still, then forced the Hat on to Neville’s head, so that it slipped down below his eyes. There were movements from the crowd, some, like Sarah, daring a step toward Neville. As one, the Death Eaters raised their wands, holding the fights of Hogwarts at bay.

“Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me,” said Voldemort, and with a flick of his wand, he caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames.

Screams split the dawn, Ginny and Luna’s voices rising above the others in a horrible cry as Neville stood aflame, rooted to the spot, unable to move –

And then many things happened at the same time.

They heard an uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out-of-sight walls and pelted towards the castle, uttering loud war cries. At the same time, Grawp came lumbering round the side of the castle and yelled, “HAGGER!” His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort’s giants: they ran at Grawp like bull elephants, making the earth quake. Then came hooves, and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise. A flash of blond caught Sarah’s eye as Draco broke free of Sirius and ran towards Harry, who – who was _gone_ –

And then Neville moved.

In one swift, fluid motion Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon him; the flaming Hat fell off him and he drew from its depth something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle –

The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd, or the sounds of the clashing giants, and yet it seemed to draw every eye. With a single stroke, Neville sliced off the great snake’s head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the entrance hall, and Voldemort’s mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody would hear, and the snake’s body thudded to the ground at his feet –

Sarah leapt forward, casting a Shield Charm between Neville and Voldemort before the latter could raise his wand. She stood beside Neville to support him as she shot a _Reducto_ at Voldemort, giving them time to turn around and race toward the castle.

Chaos reigned. The charging centaurs were scattering the Death Eaters, everyone was fleeing the giants’ stamping feet, and nearer and nearer thundered the reinforcements that had come from who knew where; Sarah saw great winged creatures soaring around the heads of Voldemort’s giants, Thestrals and Buckbeak the Hippogriff scratching at their eyes while Grawp punched and pummelled them; and now the wizards, defenders of Hogwarts and Voldemort’s Death Eaters alike, were being forced back into the castle. Sarah was shooting jinxes and curses at any Death Eater she could see, and they crumpled, their bodies trampled by the retreating crowd.

At some point, Sarah and Neville got separated as they were buffeted into the entrance hall: she was searching for Draco and saw him across the room, Sirius beside him, both firing spells as quickly as they could. Flashes of spell light blinded her as she fought her way through the crowd toward them, knocking people back with both her fists and wand.

And now there were more, even more people storming up the front steps, and Sarah saw Charlie Weasley overtaking Horace Slughorn, who was still wearing his emerald pyjamas. The seemed to have returned at the head of what looked like the families and friends of every Hogwarts student who had remained to fight, along with the shopkeepers and homeowners of Hogsmeade. The centaurs Bane, Ronan and Magorian burst into the hall with a great clatter of hooves, as behind Sarah the door that led to the kitchens was blasted off its hinges.

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the entrance hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleavers, and at their head, the locket of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog’s voice audible even above this din: “Fight! Fight! Fight for my master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!”

They were hacking and stabbing at the ankles and shins of Death Eaters, their tiny faces alive with malice, and everywhere Sarah looked Death Eaters were folding under the sheer weight of numbers, overcome by spells, dragging arrows from wounds, stabbed in the leg by elves or else simply attempting to escape, but swallowed by the oncoming horde.

Sarah ran past Pansy, who was duelling her father and smirking devilishly at him.

“By the way,” she was shouting as Sarah shot a Stunning Spell at another Death Eater, “did I tell you I‘m gay?”

Sarah let out a delighted laugh as Pansy’s father fell to her wand and Pansy huffed, flicked her short bob over her shoulder, and immediately dived in to help Millicent, who was battling two Death Eaters at the same time.

But it was not over yet: Sarah sped between duellers, past struggling prisoners, and into the Great Hall.

Voldemort was in the centre of the battle, and he was striking and smiting all within reach. Sarah could see Draco’s unmistakable blond hair fighting toward him, his face set in terrible snarl.

Sarah saw Yaxley slammed to the floor by Fred and Lee, saw Dolohov fall with a scream at Flitwick’s hands, saw Walden Macnair thrown across the room by Hagrid, hit the stone wall opposite and slide unconscious to the ground. She saw Ron and Neville bringing down Fenrir Greyback, Aberforth Stunning Rookwood, Arthur and Percy flooring Thicknesse, and Narcissa Malfoy running through the crowd, not even attempting to fight, but screaming for her son.

A hand grabbed Sarah’s hair and yanked her head back. She screamed as tears of pain came to her eyes. Malicious grey eyes stared back at her as Lucius Malfoy hissed, “You little _bitch!_ You’ve cost me _everything_!”

Pain exploded in her jaw as he backhanded her, causing her to drop to the ground in a heap. Her screams somehow echoed above the noise of fighting as Lucius cast _Crucio_ over and over until she was shivering and convulsing on the hard, stone floor.

“You should have died with your mother!” he screamed, raising his wand high. “ _Avada – “_

“NO!”

A figure jumped in front of Sarah and blasted Lucius’s wand off course. Narcissa Malfoy stared down her husband, wandless.

“I will _not_ let you hurt her!” she said. “Never again!”

“Move, Narcissa!” bellowed Lucius. “MOVE!”

“NO!”

“ _Narcissa_ …”

Sarah held out her wand as she struggled to get to her feet, her legs shaking so bad she wasn’t sure they would hold her weight. Narcissa grabbed the wand and pointed it at her husband. Without waiting another second, she began casting silent spells at Lucius, who growled and shot back with just as much ferocity.

Sarah saw that Voldemort was now duelling McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley all at once, and Bellatrix was still fighting too, fifty yards away from Voldemort, and like her master she duelled three at once: Hermione, Ginny and Luna, all battling their hardest, but Bellatrix was equal to them, and Sarah’s attention was diverted as a Killing Curse shot so close to Ginny that she missed death by an inch –

Sarah kept struggling to get to her feet as Narcissa continued to defend her. But a cry caught Sarah’s attention.

“NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!”

Mrs Weasley threw off her cloak as she ran, freeing her arms. Bellatrix spun on the spot, roaring with laughter at the sight of her new challenger.

“OUT OF MY WAY!” shouted Mrs Weasley to the three girls, and with a swipe of her wand she began to duel. Sarah watched with terror and elation as Molly Weasley’s wand slashed and twirled, and Bellatrix Lestrange’s smile faltered, and became a snarl. Jets of light flew from both wands, the floor around the witch’s feet became hot and cracked; both women were fighting to kill.

“No!” Mrs Weasley cried, as a few students ran forwards, trying to come to her aid. “Get back! _Get back_! She’s mine!”

Hundreds of people now lined the walls, watching the three fights, Voldemort and his three opponents, Bellatrix and Molly, and the two Malfoys, Narcissa still standing in front of Sarah’s prone body.

“What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?” taunted Bellatrix, as mad as her master, capering as Molly’s curses danced around her. “When Mummy’s gone the same was as Georgie?”

“You – will – never – touch – our – children – again!” screamed Mrs Weasley.

Bellatrix laughed, a horrible exhilarated sound, and Sarah knew suddenly knew what was going to happen before it did.

Molly’s curse soared beneath Bellatrix’s outstretched arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart.

Bellatrix’s gloating smile froze, her eyes seemed to bulge: for the tiniest space of time she knew what had happened, and then she toppled, and the watching crowd roared.

Sarah was brought back to the fight closest to her as Narcissa was flung back by Lucius’s spell. Narcissa crawled over to Sarah, draping her body over Sarah’s still shaking figure and they closed their eyes, sure that the lethal curse was seconds away from them –

And then suddenly they heard a shout and opened their eyes to see that Draco had launched himself at his father, knocking his wand out of his hand and placing himself in front of Sarah and his mother. Lucius barely had a second to realise who had stopped him before Draco’s curse hit him in the face, and he crumpled, unseeing grey eyes staring at the ceiling.

Voldemort screamed.

Sarah felt as though everything was in slow motion: she saw McGonagall, Kingsley and Slughorn blasted backwards, flailing and writhing through the air, as Voldemort’s fury at the fall of his last two, best lieutenants exploded with the force of a bomb.

Voldemort raised his wand and directed it at Draco.

“ _Protego!”_ roared Harry’s voice, and the Shield Charm expanded in the middle of the Hall, and Voldemort stared around for the source as Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak.

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat as she registered that he was alive and okay – he was _alive_ –

Draco and Narcissa hauled Sarah to her feet and yells of shock, cheers and screamed erupted on every side of them, “Harry!” “HE’S ALIVE!” and were stifled at once. The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and began, at the same moment, to circle each other.

“I don’t want anyone else to try to help,” Harry said loudly as Sarah, Draco and Narcissa pushed their way to the front of the crowd. In the total silence, his voice carried like a trumpet call. “It’s got to be like this. It’s got to be me.”

Voldemort hissed.

“Potter doesn’t mean that,” he said, his red eyes wide. “That isn’t how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?”

“Nobody,” said Harry simply. “There are no more Horcruxes. It’s just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good…”

“One of us?” jeered Voldemort, and his whole body was taut and his red eyes stared, a snake that was about to strike. “You thin it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?”

“Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?” asked Harry. They were still moving sideways, both of them, in that perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other. “Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn’t defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?”

“ _Accidents_!” screamed Voldemort, but still he did not strike, and the watching crowd was frozen as if petrified, and of the hundreds in the Hall, nobody seemed to breathe but the two. “Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and snivelled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!”

“You won’t be killing anyone else tonight,” said Harry as they circled, and stared into each other’s eyes, green into red. “You won’t be able to kill any of them, ever again. Don’t you get it? I was ready to die to stop you hurting these people – “

“But you did not!”

“ – I meant to, and that’s what did it. I’ve done what my mother did. They’re protected from you. Haven’t you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can’t torture them. You can’t touch them. You don’t learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?”

“ _You dare – “_

“Yes, I dare,” said Harry, “I know things you don’t know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don’t. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?”

Voldemort did not speak, but prowled in a circle, and Sarah knew that Harry kept him temporarily mesmerised and at bay, held back by the faintest possibility that Harry might indeed know a final secret…

“Is it love again?” said Voldemort, his snake face jeering, “Dumbledore’s favourite solution, _love_ , which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the Tower and breaking like an old waxwork? _Love_ , which did not prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter – and nobody seems to love you enough to run forwards this time, and take my curse. So what will stop you dying now when I strike?”

“Just one thing,” said Harry, and still they circled each other, wrapped in each other, held apart by nothing but the last secret.

“If it is not love that will save you this time,” said Voldemort, “you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?”

“I believe both,” said Harry, and Sarah saw shock flit across the snake-like face, though it was instantly dispelled; Voldemort began to laugh, and the sound was more frightening than his screams; humourless and insane, it echoed around the silent Hall.

“You think _you_ know more magic than I do?” he said. “Than _I_ , than Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?”

“Oh, he dreamed of it,” said Harry, “but he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you’ve done.”

“You mean he was weak!” screamed Voldemort. “Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!”

“No, he was cleverer than you,” said Harry, “a better wizard, a better man.”

“I brought the death of Albus Dumbledore!”

“You thought you did,” said Harry, “but you were wrong.”

For the first time, the watching crowd stirred as hundreds of people around the walls drew breath as one. Despite the tense atmosphere, a small part of Sarah was amused that Harry was monologuing for Voldemort, having been forced to listen to Voldemort’s own rambling speeches more than once.

“ _Dumbledore is dead!”_ Voldemort hurled the words at Harry as though they would cause him unendurable pain. “His body decays in the marble tomb in the grounds of this castle, I have seen it, Potter, and he will not return!”

“Yes, Dumbledore’s dead,” said Harry calmly, “but you didn’t have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant.”

“What childish dream is this?” said Voldemort, but still, he did not strike, and his red eyes did not waver from Harry’s.

“Severus Snape wasn’t yours,” said Harry. “Snape was Dumbledore’s, Dumbledore’s from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realised it, because of the thing you can’t understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?”

Voldemort did not answer. They continued to circle each other like wolves about to tear each other apart.

“Snape’s Patronus was a doe,” said Harry, “the same as my mother’s, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children. You should have realised,” he said, as Voldemort’s nostrils flare, “he asked you to spare her life, didn’t he?”

“He desired her, that was all,” sneered Voldemort, “but when he had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, worthier of him – “

“Of course he told you that,” said Harry, “but he was Dumbledore’s spy from the moment you threatened her, and he’s been working against you ever since! Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him!”

“It matter’s not!” shrieked Voldemort, who had followed every word with rapt attention, but now let out a cackle of mad laughter. “It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore’s, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape’s supposed great _love_! Oh, but it all makes sense Potter, and in ways that you do not understand!”

Voldemort smiled cruelly at Harry.

“Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me! He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got there ahead of you, little boy – I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up. I killed Severus Snape hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore’s last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!”

“Well, you would be right,” Harry said with a smirk, “if Dumbledore’s last plan actually backfired on me. You see, it hasn’t backfired on me at all. It’s backfired on you, Riddle.”

Voldemort’s hand was trembling on the Elder Wand and Harry’s grip was white-knuckled around an unfamiliar wand.

“Snape never beat Dumbledore,” announced Harry. “Dumbledore’s death was planned between them! He was planning on dying undefeated, the wand’s last true master!”

“But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!” Voldemort’s voice shook with malicious pleasure. “I stole the wand from its last master’s tomb!”

“You still don’t get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn’t enough!” Harry exclaimed shaking his head. “You were never the wand’s true master.”

Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Sarah could feel the air begin to crackle as his power rose up inside him.

“The true master of the Elder Wand was Vincent Crabbe.”

Blank shock showed in Voldemort’s face for a moment, but then it was gone.

“But what does it matter?” he said softly. “Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: we duel on skill alone…and after I have killed you, I can attend to Vincent Crabbe…”

“But you’re too late,” said Harry. “You missed your chance. I got there first. I disarmed Crabbe minutes before his death. I took this wand from him.”

Harry twitched the dark wand, and every eye in the Hall fell upon it.

“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry. “Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does…I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”

A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them, as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur and Harry’s night-black hair shone like bronze. Sarah held her breath as two loud voices shrieked, wands raising in the air:

“ _Avada Kedavra!”_

_“Expelliarmus!”_

The bang was like a cannon blast and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead centre of the circle the pair had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Sarah watched as Voldemort’s green jet met Harry’s own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air towards the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it as last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snake-like face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.

One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended, and then Sarah and Draco were moving as the tumult broke around them as the screams and cheers and roars of the watchers rent the air. They collided with Harry, wrapping him in their arms as they stood in the middle of the celebrating crowd. Seconds later, two more thumps announced the arrival of Ron and Hermione and the five of them just stood there, grasping each other like their lives depended on it, before others reached them. Sirius, Ginny, Neville and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys, and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Sarah could not hear a word anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing them, pulling them, trying to hug Harry, hundreds of them pressing in, and all Sarah could do was cry with relief into Harry’s chest, her friends and family around her.

The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light. Harry was an indispensable part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. Everyone wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their saviour and guide. Draco had not left his side, even once Sarah, Ron and Hermione had been swept away.

Now, Sarah sat on a bench holding tightly to Fred’s hand, watching as they moved Voldemort’s boy and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of George, Tonks, Colin Creevey and fifty others who had died fighting for them. McGonagall had replaced the house tables, but nobody was sitting according to houses any more: all were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents, centaurs and house-elves, and Firenze lay recovering in a corner, and Grawp peered in through a smashed window, and people were throwing food into his laughing mouth.

Sarah saw Greg enter the Hall at once point and left Fred to go talk to him. On the way, she caught Theo’s eye and inclined her head to the entrance, where he met her within moments.

“Potter did it,” Greg said as the three of them stepped outside the Hall, away from prying eyes.

Sarah nodded her head and wrapped her arms around herself.

“He did it,” she said. She observed the large boy, his face pale and stretched, his eyes dark and hollow. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’ll likely be arrested with the others,” Greg said, looking behind her to where Kingsley, who was declared acting Minister, and Order members were rounding up the surviving Death Eaters. “I deserve it.”

Sarah and Theo glanced at each other. No matter everything Greg had done, being shipped off to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban wasn’t something he deserved.

“You saved my life, Greg,” Sarah said quietly. “You don’t deserve Azkaban.”

“I did bad things, Sarah,” Greg grunted. “I was one of them.”

“We all did bad things,” she countered.

“Greg,” Theo put a hand on the other boy’s shoulder. “You won’t be able. Blaise, Pansy, Sarah, Draco and me, we’ll all look out for you, all right?”

“I don’t deserve it,” Greg said softly, and Sarah was startled to see the tell-tale signs of tears in his eyes.

“You said you never wanted to do any of it,” Sarah said, forcing him to look at her. “This is your chance to make things better – to turn your life around.”

Approaching footsteps made her turn around and she saw Kingsley walking toward them.

“Sarah,” he said in greeting, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take Mr Goyle with me to the Ministry – “

“No,” she said, stepping in front of Greg and crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re not taking him.”

Kingsley sighed and said, “I’m sorry, Sarah, but I have to – he was one of them – “

“And he saved my life,” she argued. “Are you going to be locking Narcissa Malfoy up as well? Even though she fought to protect me?”

“Well…”

“Exactly,” she stated firmly. “So you will not be taking Greg with you. He’ll be staying at my Manor until further notice.” She turned to Greg. “Unless you’d prefer to say someone else?”

He shook his head at her. Theo quickly added, “Most likely the other Slytherins and I will also be staying there, considering the slight difficulty of our parents’ imprisonment.”

Kingsley looked as if he were struggling to hold back a smile.

“Very well,” he finally stated. “If you can account for Goyle’s whereabouts until I find time to figure out what to do with him, he may remain here.”

“Thanks Kingsley,” Sarah said, jumping up and hugging him quickly before gliding away.

“You’re trouble, Sarah Deaumont,” Kingsley said with a tired sighed.

“You’re only just figuring that out?” Theo asked with a smirk, as he and Greg followed Sarah back into the Great Hall.

They ignored the outraged looks following them as they passed seated families and crying students. Sarah led the way to the small knot of Slytherins, who were sitting with Neville and Luna.

“Hello Sarah,” Blaise said, looking up. His dark eyes widened as he looked behind her and he added, “And hello surprising addition.”

“Don’t be rude, Blaise,” Sarah scolded. Theo and Greg sat down at the table but Sarah remained standing. “Greg saved my life. He’ll be staying at my family Manor with Theo for the summer.”

“Oooh, are we having a slumber party?” Pansy asked excitedly. Sarah blinked in shock as she registered that Pansy had her arm around Millicent’s shoulders, the other girl leaning into her side. “I’ll bring my face masks.”

“You do that,” Sarah said distractedly, as someone tapped on her shoulder. Draco was standing behind her, a small, tired smile on his face.

“Come with me for a moment?” he asked her, holding out his hand.

She left the other students to talk amongst themselves as she followed Draco out of the Hall. She spotted Sirius curled up beside Remus on the makeshift hospital bed, both of them sleeping peacefully. Fred was sitting by George’s body again, and Sarah thought that he might have been talking quietly to his brother, telling him that they won, that they were okay.

Great chunks were missing from the marble staircase, part of the balustrade gone, and rubble and bloodstains occurred every few steps as they climbed. Ron and Hermione joined them a few moments later and the four of them slowly walked further away down the damaged corridors.

“Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of the thing, doesn’t it?” said Ron, pushing open a door to let Sarah, Hermione and Draco through. He held it open a second longer than necessary and Sarah wasn’t surprised when Harry appeared from beneath the Cloak.

“I have to tell you something,” he told them, gesturing for them all to follow him.

Sarah listening in muted exhaustion as Harry explained how Snape had given him memories to view when he died. He described how Snape and Lily had been friends as children, but as they grew older, slowly grew apart, both ending up on different sides of a war. Then Harry explained how Dumbledore had known Harry was a Horcrux, that a piece of Voldemort had lived inside him ever since Voldemort had tried to kill him. It meant that in order for Voldemort to be truly defeated, Harry had to die.

He went on the describe how he had walked willingly into the forest to die and how he couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye to any of them. Tears were flowing out of his eyes as he described finding the Resurrection Stone in the Snitch, and talking to his parents one last time before Voldemort killed him. He spoke about his experience of a limbo state, where he saw Dumbledore and the piece of Voldemort that was dying. And he told them he had been given a choice: he could have chosen to come back, or he could have gotten on a train and gone into the unknown. Harry gripped each of their hands in turn as he described how he couldn’t leave, how he had to finish the job, had to be the one to kill Voldemort.

Draco let out a choked noise when Harry revealed that Narcissa had lied to Voldemort, saying that Harry was dead after she asked if Draco was safe. Harry hugged his boyfriend close to him as they paused in front of a familiar doorway. Ron, Hermione and Sarah held each other as Harry comforted Draco, simply relishing the fact that they were all alive and together.

The gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster’s study had been knocked aside; it stood lopsided, looking a little punch-drunk, and Sarah wondered whether it would be able to distinguish passwords anymore.

“Can we go up?” Harry asked the gargoyle.

“Feel free,” groaned the statue.

They clambered over him and on to the spiral stone staircase that moved slowly upwards. Harry pushed open the door at the top.

They had a brief glimpse of the dark wood desk, with a Pensieve sitting atop it, when an ear-splitting noise made them cry out, thinking of curses and returning Death Eaters and the rebirth of Voldemort –

But it was applause. All around the walls, the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were giving Harry a standing ovation; they waved their hates and in some cases, their wigs, they reached through their frames to grip each other’s hands; they danced up and down on the chairs in which they had been painted; Dilys Derwent sobbed unashamedly, Dexter Fortescue was waving his ear-trumpet; and Phineas Nigellus called, in his high, reedy voice, “And let it be noted that Slytherin house played its part! Let out contribution not be forgotten!”

At last, Harry held up his hands, and the portraits fell respectfully silent, beaming and mopping their eyes and waiting eagerly for him to speak. He directed his words at Dumbledore, however, and seem to choose them with enormous care.

“The thing that was hidden in the Snitch,” he began, “I dropped it in the Forest. I don’t know exactly where, but I’m not going to go looking for it again. Do you agree?”

“My dear boy, I do,” said Dumbledore, while his fellow pictures looked confused and curious. “A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I would have expected of you. Does anyone else know where it fell?”

“No one,” said Harry, and Sarah beamed proudly at him, grasping Hermione’s hand tightly.

“I’m going to keep Ignotus’s present, though,” said Harry and Dumbledore beamed.

“But of course, Harry, it is yours forever, until you pass it on!”

“And then there’s this.”

Harry held up the Elder Wand.

“I don’t want it,” said Harry.

“What?” said Ron loudly. “Are you mental?”

“I know it’s powerful,” said Harry wearily. “But I was happier with mine. So…”

He rummaged in the pouch hung around his neck, and pulled out the two halves of holly wood still, just, connected by the finest thread of phoenix feather. Hermione had said that they could not be repaired, that the damage was too severe. Sarah hoped for Harry’s sake that she was wrong.

He laid the broken wand upon the Headmaster’s desk, touched it with the very tip of the Elder Wand and said “ _Reparo_.”

As the wand sealed, red sparks flew out of its end. Sarah knew that he had succeeded. Harry picked up the holly and phoenix warmth, smiling softly down at it. Draco stepped up to him and laced his fingers through Harry’s free hand.

“I’m putting the Elder Wand,” Harry told Dumbledore, who was watching him silently, “back where it came from. it can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won’t it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That’ll be the end of it.”

Dumbledore nodded. They smiled at each other.

“Are you sure?” said Ron. There was the faintest trace of longing in his voice as he looked at the Elder Wand.

“I think Harry’s right,” said Sarah quietly.

“That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry. “And quite honestly,” he turned away from the painted portraits to smile at the four of them, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”

Sarah held out her free hand to him and he pocketed his wand, placing his hand in hers. Ron caught Hermione’s hand then Draco’s, and the five of them stood in the glow of the rising sun, smiling at each other as they accepted that it was over, everything was finished.

“Let’s go home,” Sarah said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I've finished the actual series :(
> 
> Thank you to all those who have stuck with me this long, it's taken absolutely forever. I honestly don't know when I'm going to get the next one up but it's just going to be a nice little extra thing because I honestly think that JKR's epilogue was so problematic for multiple reasons. 
> 
> If you have any suggestions for what you want to see in the next installation, let me know! 
> 
> Peace out my dudes xxx


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